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.ALLEN COUNTY PUBLIC LIBRARY
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GENEALOGY
974
MB 15
1910
Digitized by the Internet Archive
in 2012
http://archive.org/details/newenglandmagaziv42bost
i:
New England Magazine
An Illustrated Monthly
NEW SERIES, VOLUME XLII
March, 1910 — August, 1910
Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1908, by
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE COMPANY
in the office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington
All Rights Reserved
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE CO., Publishers
Bertrand L. Chapman, President Fre Jerick W. Burrows, Editor
Old South Building, Boston, Massachusetts
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INDEX
VOL. XLII.
Amid the Dunes, A Poem
Another Offspring of Old Dorchester
Apollo Club of Boston, The
Autumn Fan, A Story
Autumn Foliage, A Poem
Automobilia
The Automobile and the Roads
The Automobile and the Law
The Car of To-day
The Future of the Automobile
The Motor Cycle
At Whitsuntide
I iallet School, The First American
Beautiful New England
For March — Good Roads
For April — The Maple ,
For May — Maranacook, Maine
For June — Boothbay Harbour
For Jul)'-— Views Among the White
Mountains
For August — New England Panoramas
Biography of a Trout
Bird Architects and Architecture
Bonn}- Boy, A Poem
Brave Reward, The
Chance, The, A Story
Chile Trouble .
Children on the Stage and Off
Clap of Thunder, A
( < '-operating for All New England
College Trained Immigrants
( riminal Slang
Decade of School Administrati >n in Boston. .
Dr. Bestor's Atonement
External Feminine, The
Family of Foundlings, A
Field Sparrow Family
Financial Outlook, The
Flanders, Ralph L
For Rusty and Old Heaton
Gathering Shadows, Poem
Gateway of Boston Harbour
Gift of a Great Art Collector to His Native
City
Graham. John M
Clinton S collar d 439 1
L. Elfleda Chandler * . . 355
Ethel Syford 1 58 j
Sui Sin Far .... 693
Frederick Merrill Pyke ....
IV m. D. Sohier
George L. Ellsworth . .
W . Mason Turner . .
J. H. MacAlman
LeRoy Cooke
Leverett D. G. Bentley
Ethel Ford
John W. Titcomb
L. IV. Br own ell
Ann Partlau
F. J. Louriet
Edith DeBlois Laskey
Josephine Compton Bray
Mary Edward Leonard
Nora Archibald Smith,
H. B. Humphrey
Charles S. Fairman
Joseph M. Sullivan, L. L. B. . . .
David A. Ellis
Margaret Preston Lynnbrook . .
Jane Orth 113,
William A. Huse
L. IV. Brownell
Henry M. Clews
Gail Kent
Pauline Carrington Bouve ....
746
46
49
52 b
55
58
331
26
1
129
257
385 (]
513 I
64U
71 I
472 f
183
60
222
94
489
712
297
577
585
521
304
243
722
685
649 1
631 I,
466
45 j;
693
703
632
INDEX iii
Grange, Its Works and Ideals, The Charles A. Campbell 184
Great Object Lesson, A Eldridge King 733
Historic Happenings on Boston Common, I . . Marion Florence Lansing .... 565
Historic Happenings on Boston Common, II. . Marion Florence Lansing 727
Hooker : On Beacon Hill, Poem Frederic M. Pyke 103
How Portland was Saved by a Girl Professor Ingraham 545
House with the Blue Blinds, The Nina Eldridge • 448
Hymn to the Silence of Time James Brannin 658
In the Storm f . . . . Katherine De Ford Davis 494
Japanese Stage Judge Henry Austin 659
John Brown and His Eastern Friends ...... Frank P. Stearns 589
Josephine Preston Peabody Mary S toy ell Stimpson 271
Laboring Man of To-day as Compared with
Fifty Years Ago Richard Olney, 2d : 81
Laurenus Clark Seelye — A Crusader in the
Cause of Education Ethel Syford , . • . . 525
Le Beau Port James R. Coffin 167
Mania of Egoism, The Zitella Cocke 679
Maritime Provinces, The, I Walter Merriam Pratt 9
Maritime Provinces, The, II Walter Merriam Pratt 193
Margaret Fuller Ossoli John Clair Minot 294
Massachusetts Institute of Technology William T. Atwood • 396
Mayor Howard of Salem Grace Agnes Thompson and
Fred Harris Thompson 737
Messenger, The Lawrence C. Wroth 427
Midnight, Poem 102
Nan's Career, I Mary R. P. Hatch 440
Nan's Career, II Mary R. P. Hatch 561
Nanette Owen Mason • 238
Naturalist and His Work, A Born Ella Gilbert Jves 340
On the Trail of the Pioneer Tafts Beatrice Putnam 279
On Tarbell's Picture of a Girl Crocheting Pauline Carrington Bouve 416
Our Lady of Stories Olive Vincent Marsh 574
Our Senior Senator Frederic W. Burrows 611
Pastoral, A Clinton Scollard 353
Persian Rug, The William Oliver Remington .... 154
"Portland, 1920" Charles M. Rockwood 531
pl ato Charlotte W. Thurston 395
Powers, Samuel Leland 627
President Taft and Republican Party Promises. Frederic W. Burrows 137
Prophecy for the Future, A D. N. Graves • 232
Providence, Rhode Island George H. Webb 453
The Gateway of Southern New England
Quest of the Big Trout, The Arthur Lee Golder 600
Rapids, The, Poem Aloysius Coll 652
Return of the Horse, The Frederic W. Burrows 393
Rodin, A Visit to Monsieur Kate Meldram Buss 435
Rostand's Chantecler Edmond Marquand 227
Saving a State's Mountains Charles G. Fairman 406
Saviors of Society ' Franklin Kent Gifford 653
Scotch Irish in America, The R u fh Dame Coolidge 747
Sea Bride, The Theodosia Garrison 292
Shaker Society, The Pauline Carrington Bouve .... 669
Some Boston Memories William H. Rideing 417
Soul of Things, The Zitella Cocke • . . 36
Spendthrift, The James Owen Tryon 225
iv INDEX
Taft Administration. The Samuel L. Powers 265
Taxation Needs of Massachusetts S. R. Wrightington 481
Than Happiness Higher Arthur Powell 500
Thumb-Screws of Heredity, The Agnes B. Chowen ■ 495
Tragic in the Life of Aaron Burr, The Robert N. Reeves 103
Typical Yankee Bird, A Margaret IV. Leighton 88
Unseal My Leaps • 225
Vail, Theodore N 626
Waking Up Massachusetts Herbert F. Szvan . 615
When the Shadows Lengthen Ellen Burns Sherman 284
White Mask, The F. Wilbur Brooks 179
Wing. Daniel Gould 629
Wing Dancer, The, Poem Margaret Aliona Dole 667
Williams College . William T. Atwood 154
Wood Lilies. Poem Eleanor Robbins Wilson 35
Young Naturalist and the Camera, The Dr. R. W. Shufeldt 553
Beautiful
NewEivglarvd
7
Photogra i>h 1>y Olmst.earl Brothers, Landscape Gardeners
A WEW,-MADE PARKWAY
otograph by courtesy of the Massachusetts Highway Commission
Massachusetts State highway, Buckund
Photograph by courtesy of the Massachusetts Highway Commission
The famous "Jacob's Ladder" and the new cut-oFE
Photograph by Olmsteacl Brothers, Landscape Architects
A road in the Berkshire Hilxs
Photograph bj courtesy of Massachusetts Highway commission
A Tarvia Treated Highway, Western Massachusetts
'hotograph by courtesy of Massachusetts Highway Commissioi
A SECTION OF RURAL ROADWAY, MACADAM AND TAR
Drawing by L. T. Hammond Illustration for "A Maxim to Trust."
"Jack Wolcott," she declared, "you've stolen somebody's car!"
New England Magazine
Vol. XLIL MARCH, 1910 Number 1
The Maritime Provinces
AS SEEN FROM AN AUTOMOBILE
By WALTER MERRIAM PRATT
Author of "The Burning of Chelsea" "A Sailor's Life One Hundred Years
Ago" etc.
IT is a strange fact, but one worth
noting, that many well-educated
people think of Nova Scotia as an
island. This syllogism, no doubt, is
the reason that it is so hard to adjust
one's mind readily to the idea of mo-
toring from Yarmouth to Boston, and
may have had something to do with the
fact that few motor cars have made
the trip. Until this year automobiles
were prohibited to run upon certain
days, and these days varied with
the counties. The laws have been
very effective in keeping motor-pro-
pelled vehicles out of the Provinces,
but at last the natives have come to
realize it is to their interest to let them
in, and now one may motor when and
where he wishes, with the exception
of Prince Edward Island.
There is no question but what mo-
toring is the most interesting way to
travel through the Maritime Provinces.
The roads on the whole are fair, and
compare favorably with the average
Massachusetts and New York road.
There are bad stretches which will not
be enjoyed, especially by the owner of
the car, but unless one is a pessimist
the trip will be looked back upon with
pleasure.
Our party arrived in Boston about
noon on the second Sunday in Sep-
tember, and sailed for Yarmouth, N.
S., on the Dominion Atlantic S.S.
Prince George, at two o'clock on the
same day. Our machine, which
weighed forty-six hundred pounds, at-
tracted much attention among the
crew and passengers, and John, our
chauffeur, was kept busy answering
questions. The purser later told us it
was the largest car the company had
ever transported.
There was rather a sad lot on board,
and we turned in about ten and were
on deck at five, for we knew that a
sunrise off Cape Sable would be worth
seeing, and it surely was one of the
finest. To state that the sun seemed to
come up out of the water like a great
ball of fire is a little hackneyed, but
there is no way of expressing it more
accurately.
As it rapidly rose, rays of its reflec-
tion danced across the ball-room sur-
face of the ocean and almost blinded
us. Shortly after this interesting sight
9
10
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
French Canadian school children
land was sighted slightly to the star-
board, appearing at first on the hori-
zon as a brown strip about five feet
long and one-half inch high. Then a
lighthouse loomed up directly forward
and then more land to the port, and
finally, after poking up the narrow,
twisting channel of the harbor, we
were made fast at seven fifteen, Yar-
mouth time, which is an hour later
than Boston. After, going through the
apparent farce of having our baggage
examined by the officers of his ma-
jesty's customs we went to the Grand
Hotel for breakfast.
This hotel we found to be one of the
best in the Provinces and is very fair.
Through previous correspondence we
understood that a certified check would
be taken as bond for the duty of
thirty-five per cent, on the machine.
Upon presenting it, it was not accept-
able, but just as we were picturing a
tedious delay of a couple of days while
the matter was straightened out, Mr.
Harding, the head of the local cus-
TlRE TROUBLES ON A NEW BRUNSWICK ROAD
THE MARITIME PROVINCES
11
toms, most courteously offered to in-
troduce us at the local Bank of Mont-
real. This straightened the matter
out. Later in the day we had the pleas-
ure of taking this gentleman for a ride
about the city and into the outlying
districts, which proved a succession of
hills and dales, lakes and rivers. All
of this charmingly diversified scenery
was pointed out to us by our guest
with much pride.
For a town of 8000 inhabitants Yar-
mouth is certainly progressive. It has
about thirty-five miles of streets, lined
with shade trees and many beautiful
and dashed madly down the street, col-
liding with various objects on his way.
First it was a fruit stand that was
upset, then some barrels in front of a
grocery store; and so he went, leaving
a plainly marked trail behind, until a
pair of shafts and one wheel were all
that remained of the carriage as he
disappeared in the distance.
In the evening, after attending the
moving picture show, the one public
amusement in town, where we saw the
battle of Bunker Hill and watched
General George Washington cross the
Delaware, to the accompaniment of
v -9-&9BW a a
".: ; ^v!iiL'-
iftft::
The old fortress
hawthorn hedges; attractive houses,
with well-kept lawns, and an eighteen-
hole golf course.
A small-sized crowd collected when-
ever we stopped our machine. Two or
three other machines were to be seen
about this city. One bore the number
17 N. S., which satisfied us that there
were at least that number in the coun-
try.-
As we stopped in front of the hotel
upon our return an incident occurred
which gave us an inkling of what we
might expect on our trip. A horse
fastened to a hitching post a block
down the street broke loose in fright,
upset the carriage he was fastened to
the orchestra, playing "God Save the
King," we were hospitably entertained
at the Merchants' Club, our guests giv-
ing up their hands at bridge to play
billiards with us, one of the greatest
courtesies possible for an Englishman
to extend.
We left Yarmouth the next morn-
ing at nine twenty-five, and at ten
forty-five passed through the little
hamlet of Bear Cove. The district
school was having a recess, and we
stopped with the idea of snapping a
picture of the picturesque French chil-
dren, but they fled in all directions,
and hid behind stone walls, the wood-
pile and the schoolhouse in fright, and,
12
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
The wiuows oE Grand Pre
as they could not understand English
or the writer's French, the picture
would not have been taken but for the
teacher, who understood and ordered
them in their native tongue to assem-
ble. It was not until she became very
stern that all appeared and reluctantly
formed a line.
During the day, and in fact the first
few days of our trip, few horses were
met ; oxen, with the yokes attached to
the horns, are used for practically all
purposes. The fields are ploughed by
them and the harvest reaped, and
when they become too old to be longer
useful they are killed and eaten.
The shore road from Yarmouth to
Digby is the better. It is the old post
road and is sixty-seven miles long.
Twenty miles an hour is easily made,
as the road is good. The only bad
place is at Weymouth Bridge. The
village is in a valley, on the banks of
the vSissiboo River, and just beyond is
a short but extremely steep and rough
hill, ending at a railroad track. Un-
less the driver of the car is prepared
for it and starts the hill on the first
speed, he is apt to have difficulty.
Digby should be reached for lunch.
In our case we ran out to a summer
hotel about two miles around the bay,
called the "Point of Pines," situated
in a grove of pine and spruce trees
two hundred and fifty feet above the
sea. After a few hours spent in stroll-
ing about the shores of Digby Basin
we pushed on to Annapolis Royal,
twenty-two miles away, and in passing
through Digby spent perhaps an hour.
We found it a pretty little town of
2000 inhabitants, very English in its
ways and beautifully situated.
Away on the right stretches the
basin, sixteen miles long, triangular
in shape, with a base of six miles, ta-
pering to about half a mile at the end
where the Annapolis River enters, while
straight ahead is the famous Digby
Gut. Nature has here cleft a moun-
tain barrier for a portal ; the rugged
heights towering higfi on either hand
would dwarf the proudest vessel ever
built.
THE MARITIME PROVINCES
13
The gut is the only break in the
North Mountain for many miles, and
through it ships pass out into the Bay
of Fundy, and the tide rushes in with
impetuous force for a forty-foot rise.
The sight before us was beautiful.
In the .distance the sloping hills, cov-
ered with tints of red, russet and gold,
mingled with the tamer hues of foliage
on the mountain beyond, while in the
foreground lay a vast expanse of sun-
lit water, reflecting a thousand va-
garies of the changing sky. It would
take a magnificent intellect to describe
the scene, and too true a description
would have the flavor of a Munchau-
sen tale.
It is no wonder that Pierre du Guast,
Sierre DuMonts, who discovered the
basin the sixteenth of June 1604,
while in search of a place for settle-
ment, admired the landlocked water
and sent glowing accounts of the coun-
try back to the royal household of
France.
On the north runs the ridge of the
North Mountain, with a narrow belt
of level land at its foot. On the south
Serg't Daniels oe His Majesty's Service
the land is undulating, gradually ris-
ing and forming the South Mountain.
These mountains run parallel for many
miles, and form the famous Valley of
Annapolis.
( To be continued)
The meeting oe the coming and the passing monarchs oE the road
} I
Members oe the Chelsea Board of Control
A. C. Ratshesky Mark Wilmarth
W. E. McCtjntock, chairman
Alton E. Briggs George H. Dunham
Plan oe the Williams School Group, a portion oe which is already erected
and in use
The New Chelsea
By WILLIAM E. McCLINTOCK
Chairman of the Chelsea Board of Control
THE very smoke that rises from
a great conflagration differs in
its constituents and appearance
from that of lesser fires. The intense
heat lifting huge masses of half-
burned material into the air and the
great variety of substance that goes
to feed the all-devouring flames, give
a heavy, oleaginous quality to the pall
that overhangs the doomed district.
It was a silent city that, called from
Sabbath quiet by the' huge, flame-lit
cloud and the swift rumor that in the
course of an hour reached a million
people huddled together at every point
of vantage, helplessly watching the de-
struction of Chelsea.
On the twelfth day of April, 1908,
at about quarter to eleven in the morn-
ing, the fire broke out in the north-
westerly part of the city. The wind
was blowing a gale from the northwest.
There had been no rain for many days,
and in an incredibly short time the
flames were beyond control. Scores of
houses were burning and by dark two
hundred and eighty-seven acres had
been burned over, destroying property
valued at $17,000,000 and turning 16,-
coo people out of their homes Nine-
teen lives were lost. All shade and
fruit trees on the streets and lots
were destroyed, and fully one-half the
granite curbing was rendered useless.
About one-half the fire loss was cov-
ered by insurance. The loss of assess-
able property was about five and a
half million dollars.
Among the buildings burned were
eleven churches, the Frost Hospital,
Day Nursery, Young Men's Christian
Association building, City Hall, City
Stables, two Fire Department houses,
Public Library, High Service Pumping
Station and eight school houses.
It is this terrible calamity which
forms the point of departure for the
story of New Chelsea.
Back of that all is history — history,
however, that is all the more closely
held in affectionate remembrance for
the disaster that has swept away its
visible memorials.
Full of interest and not devoid of
dignity was the history of old Chel-
sea.
Sheltered from the winds of the At-
lantic by the outlying towns of Revere
and Winthrop, and that section of the
metropolis known as East Boston,
15
10
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
The new Shurt^eeE schooe
Chelsea occupies a peninsula, once
called Winnisimmet, fronting on the
Mystic River and its two tributaries,
the Island End and Chelsea Rivers.
Its area, of fourteen hundred acres,
presents an undulating surface, rising
from the level of the salt marshes to
four considerable elevations known as
Hospital Hill, Mount Bellingham,
Powderhorn Hill and Mount Washing-
ton.
About one-half of those made home-
less found shelter in Chelsea, the other
half were cared for in the nearby
cities and towns.
On the night of the fire a relief com-
mittee was organized, who, aided by
the church and other organizations,
furnished food and shelter, clothes and
bedding for those madehomeless. There
was no real suffering among these
people so turned out of their homes,
but there was great inconvenience and
worry.
A committee of strong business men,
headed by James J. Storrow, appointed
by Acting Governor Draper, performed
heroic service in carrying on the relief
work and the people of Chelsea will be
ever grateful for what these men did.
In response to a call for aid there
was subscribed $360,000, which was
first used to relieve the immediate
wants of the sufferers and later to re-
habilitate them so far as possible.
After the fire there was a widespread
feeling that the city could not be
quickly and economically rebuilt and
remodelled by the Mayor and the
Aldermen. This feeling culminated in
a petition to the General Court for a
commission form of government. The
petition was favored by the Board of
Trade, the Manufacturers' Association
and generally by representative busi-
ness and professional men from all
parts of the city.
In May, 1908, an act was passed creat-
ing a Board of Control, who should
perform all the duties of the Mayor
THE NEW CHELSEA
17
and Aldermen. This board was to
consist of five men, to be appointed by
the Governor, three for a term of five
years, one for a term of two years, and
one for a term of three years. The
last two were to go before the voters
for re-election. In the fall of 191 1 a
Mayor and Aldermen are to be elected,
and the Board of Control will then
perform the duties of a supervisory
board. In 1912, the question will be
put to the voters : "Will the Board of
Control be continued?"
Acting Governor Draper appointed
on this Board W. E. McClintock, Alton
E. Briggs and George H. Dunham of
Chelsea, A. C. Ratshesky of Boston
and Mark Wilmarth of Maiden. Mr.
Dunham's term expired in 1909. He
was re-elected. Mr. Briggs' term ex-
pires in 1910. The board organized on
Jan. 3, 1908, and elected Mr. W. E.
McClintock as chairman. With the
appointment of the Board of Control,
the Mayor, Alderman and School Com-
mittee ceased to be. The first act of
the new board was to elect a School
Committee of five members at large,
to take the place of the old one of
fifteen.
Inasmuch as the question of munici-
pal government is receiving much at-
tention in all parts of the country, and
new charters and governments by
commission are on trial, or about to
be put to the test, it might be of in-
terest to know how this particular
commission has proceeded to solve the
problem and what it has accomplished.
The Chelsea Board of Control never
for a moment assumed that they in-
dividually or collectively were to take
charge of the different departments.
They were charged with both legis-
lative and executive powers, and un-
derstood that, generally, the executive
powers were to be exercised through
the heads of departments with sug-
gestions or orders when such seemed
necessary to correct or direct. They
18
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
could combine, create or abolish depart-
ments, and discharge and appoint the
heads.
The entire board has kept in touch
with all the problems presented, al-
though committees of one or two mem-
bers have been appointed from time
to time to investigate and report on
particular subjects which required de-
tailed study and comparison of methods
and costs. The reports of these com-
mittees might be analyzed and acted
upon at once, or they might form the
basis of argument at one or more meet-
ings before final action, and the final
action might be quite different from
that recommended. Sufficient time
and discussion have been given to as-
sure a unanimous vote on every im-
portant question.
The heads of departments have not
met with the Board at fixed and regular
times, but the head of each depart-
ment has been called in whenever
it seemed necessary for the Board
to obtain or give information or
advice.
And further than this the officers of
coporations, manufacturers, and others
have been summoned to a consulta-
tion with the Board when an inter-
change of ideas would furnish a
mutual understanding of any question.
After the conflagration, the natural
antagonism between the fire under-
writers and the management of .the
city was developed to a perplexing de-
gree. Rates of insurance were ad-
vanced : — demands were made for an in-
crease of fire apparatus and the number
of permanent men in the fire depart-
ment. The enforcement of more strin-
gent building laws was insisted upon.
Various conferences were held in
which the underwriters, with some of
the leading insurance agents and
builders of repute, participated, and
after a thorough discussion the fire de-
partment was so increased and a
The new Armory Buii/ding, Chelsea
THE NEW CHELSEA
19
.l*i!
Some oe Chelsea's new church buildings
Polish Catholic church Bellingham Methodist church
First Congregational church First Baptist church
building code enacted which met the
approval of all parties concerned and
was declared to be as good as the best.
The question of increased efficiency,
of the water mains for protection of
some of the large manufacturing in-
terests required many conferences be-
tween the Board and the Water Com-
missioners, manufacturers and under-
writers, before a system was planned
and constructed which overcame all
objections.
In the Police and Fire Departments
political influence has been absolutely
eliminated. The chiefs of these im-
portant branches were notified that
they would.be held responsible for the
proper protection of life and property,
for the efficient and economical main-
tenance of all apparatus, for discipline
among the men and for general effici-
ency. If any man, for any reason, was
unfit to perform the duties assigned
him the chief was to report the case
to the Board and no one would be ap-
pointed by the Board without a certifi-
cation from the Civil Service Com-
mission and recommendation of the
chief.
The policy outlined for the Police
and Fire Departments, so far as em-
ployment of men is concerned, has
been pursued in all of the departments.
The Board has experienced no diffi-
culty in having its policies carried out
or methods adopted. All of these have
been done by conferences and sug-
gestions : rarely has an order been re-
quired.
Street improvements, arrangement of
pole lines, burying of wires, new con-
tracts for street lighting, keeping out
noxious trades, improvement of sani-
tary conditions, safer buildings, better
plumbing, more space between build-
ings, less crowding in tenements, are
20
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINF
among the things which the Board
have undertaken to control, and, in a
large measure, successfully.
In dealing with public service cor-
porations, the Board has been emi-
nently successful. Conferences and
arguments have made mutual under-
standing possible, and secured for the
city every improvement asked for.
On the morning of April 12, 1908,
Chelsea had a population of about
38,000 and valuation of $25,969,700.
The total amount of the tax levy, au-
new valuation gives a tax rate of
$28.20 on each thousand dollars. Un-
questionably such a rate would act as
a prohibition to the rebuilding of the
city.
The city was insured on the build-
ings destroyed, $228,34247; from this
the Board appropriated $141,932.32,
which, added to the yield from the re-
duced valuation, made it possible to
maintain the same rate as in the previ-
ous year.
In addition to loss of buildings, each
The house oe "Engine 5," one oe Chelsea's new Fire Department structures
thorized by the Mayor and Aldermen
earlier in the year, was $587,280.22.
In a few short hours 15,000 people
were rendered homeless, and 8000 of
these found shelter. out of the city:
about- $17,000,000 worth of property
had been destroyed and the valuation
for assessing purposes had been re-
duced to $20,820,720.
A little figuring shows that to raise
the amount already mentioned on the
department met with losses or were
pat to a cost aggregating $62,166;
of this amount $60,000 was carried
forward as a deficit to be cared for as
circumstances permitted.
Estimates were made of probable
receipts and expenses for a period of
four years, and the deduction from
these figures was that twenty-three
dollars would be the highest rate. The
yield on the new valuation at a rate
THE NEW CHELSEA
21
of twenty-three dollars, added to the
$60,000 remaining- in the insurance
money, apparently would furnish a
sufficiently large amount to meet the
requirements of the departments, debt
requirements and the State levies for
tax, parks, and sewers for 1909.
At the end of the year because of
increased receipts in the contingent
account and economy in the different
departments there was a surplus of
nearly $53,000.
policy to fix a rate for 1910 which was
too low to permit of a reduction in the
year following. Hence, the rate used
for the year 1910, as a theoretical rate,
was $22.40. If the estimate of condi-
tions are of any value there should
be a surplus at the end of the year of
$12,000, and this, together with the
surplus brought over, will make it
possible to pay off $20,000 of the re-
maining $40,000 of the fire deficit and
$10,000 for installation of water meters.
New eire-prooe city stables
This surplus made it possible to pay
off $20,000 of the $60,000 deficit,
$io;ooo for installing water meters;
$3,500 for extraordinary expenses due
to damages caused by a tidal wave, and
still have a balance in the treasury of
about $18,000.
In determining the rate for 1910
consideration was given to the next
year.
While a steadily decreasing tax rate
is desirable, it would not be good
If the building during the next year
continues at the same rate as for the
past year, the valuation of 191 1 will
insure a rate of about $21.20.
As a part of the expenditure for
191 1 there is interest and sinking
funds, on a general debt, amounting to
about $73,000. The sinking funds will
cancel the general debt of $899,500, at
the close of next year, and the expendi-
ture for 1912 will be reduced by
$73,000 or an equivalent of about
oo .
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
Pi,ant oe the Forbes Lithograph Manufacturing Company
$2.80 on the thousand on the tax
rate.
To sum up*, in about four years, not-
withstanding the almost overwhelming
catastrophe, the city will have recov-
ered its lost valuation, returned to a
tax rate lower than it was before the
fire, and have a growth which insures
an increase in valuation larger in pro-
portion than the increase in expendi-
tures.
These are not mere roseate prophe-
cies, but sober statements of fact and
cold figures.
Before the beginning of the last
quarter of 1908 all the departments had
as nearly returned to normal conditions
as was possible in the restricted quar-
ters they were forced to occupy. The
Board met daily except on Saturday
for the transaction of routine business.
They have kept in touch with the dif-
ferent departments by examination of
the work being done and by confer-
ences with the heads of departments.
They have been accessible at all times
to petitioners and others. All work of
any magnitude has been advertised
and the bids have in every case been
publicly opened and read and the
Pl<ANT OF THE A. G. WAI/TON & COMPANY
THE NEW CHELSEA
Pl,ANT OE THE MAGEE FURNACE COMPANY
contracts awarded to the lowest bid-
der.
The heads of departments have been
given responsible charge of their re-
spective departments, with full power
to select their own men. The entire
city ordinances have been revised and
an inspection department created which
has enforced the new building laws. As
a result of careful building, the in-
surance rate, which soon after the fire
was increased ten cents on a hundred
dollars, was restored in 1909.
The removal of the buildings by fire
made it possible to make certain de-
sirable street widenings and extensions.
Seven streets, aggregating about two
miles in length were thus improved.
At the present time, twenty-two
months after the fire, there have been
built a Central Fire Station, a two-way
fire engine house, a City Stable plant
complete, one school house of thirty
rooms and one school house of twenty-
four rooms. A new public library build-
ing is ready for the interior finish and
a city hall is under good headway. The
best equipped architects for the respec-
tive buildings have been employed, and
the competition among the builders
has been lively, the work having been
done at remarkably low figures. All the
Pl,ANT OE THE ATWOOD & McMANUS BOX FACTORY
24
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
New building oE the
public buildings have been built of com-
mon materials, with no effort at orna-
mentation except such as could be ob-
tained by artistic planning. The in-
terior finish has been plain, but every
effort has been made to secure all
modern conveniences in heating, ven-
tilating, lighting and sanitation. The
school buildings have commodious as-
sembly halls and are provided with in-
terior fire-escapes approached from the
corridors by the way of balconies
opening to the outer air. As a further
safeguard against fire or panic, each
floor is protected by swinging fire
doors, which confine the smoke to the
stairwells, which are on the opposite
side of the building from the fire-es-
capes, or to the floor where a fire may
start.
The lots on which the school build-
ings are built are of sufficient size to
give ample light and air for all time
and to permit of the planting of trees
and shrubs. There will also be op-
portunity for playgrounds.
The feeling of the board was that if
the city government showed confidence
in the future of the city, that confidence
would be shared by the. individual, and
this would mean better houses for resi-^
dence and more dignified blocks for
business. In this direction the fondest
hopes of the board have been realized
and the city is rebuilding on good, sub-
stantial lines.
Not only have houses and business
blocks been built, but the good people
who met with such terrible losses have
found time and furnished the means to
rebuild the Frost Hospital, a Masonic
Temple and six churches. Recently,
in the short space of ten days, there
was raised $72,000 for a Y. M. C. A.
Building.
There is a good reason to believe
that in a few years the burned district
will be rebuilt and that the population
THE NEW CHELSEA
25
of the city will be fifty thousand and
the valuation $35,000,000.
To pay the bills of rebuilding, bonds,
of the city to the amount of $1,000,000
were sold. The bonds run fifty years.
The first issue for $400,000 was in
August, 1908. These were four per
cent, and sold. at a premium of $12,636.
The second issue for $500,000 at three
and one-half per cent, was in February,
1909, and the premium on these was
$20,860. The third for $100,000 at four
per cent, was in February, 1910, and the
premium on these was $8,310.' Because
of the low rate and high premiums, the
annual cost for interest and sinking
funds on the rebuilding loan is but
$42,778.
The policy of the Board is to pay all
running expenses of the city out of
current receipts and borrow only for
permanent work, or for structures
which will endure for a longer time
than the bonds are to run.
Although the fire burned through the
centre of the city, destroying business
and residential streets, the large manu-
factories skirting the city were left in-
tact, and have been successfully op-
erating without shut-downs. Few
cities of the country, of the same popu-
lation, have a more varied manu-
facturing interest than has Chelsea.
Eight of these manufactories have a
weekly pay-roll ranging from eight to
sixteen thousand dollars, and the
products are sent to all parts of the
world. The men at the head of these
concerns are public spirited, loyal to
the^ city and always stand ready to
assist in any good work with their time
and money.
The location of the city is an ideal
one for manufacturing. It is but three
miles from Boston, is served by the
Boston and Maine and the New York
Central Railroads, and has an excellent
water front.
_ Among the manufacturing corpora-
tions that have found location peculi-
arly available for broad business opera-
tions and who are enthusiastic sup-
porters of the idea of a Greater Chel-
sea, are the following : —
Atwood & MacManus, boxes.
Bartels, Thelen & Company, shoes.
Bay State Improved Box Company.
Boston Blacking Company.
Boston Filter Company.
Boston Gore and Web Manufacturing
Company, elastic goods.
Boston Whiting Company.
Samuel Cabot, chemicals.
W. T. Cardy and Sons Company, boxes.
Chadbourne and More, goring.
Chelsea Clock Company.
Forbes Lithograph Mfg. Company.
Griffin Car Wheel Company.
F. B. Holmes & Co., shoes.
Lovewell-Henrici Laundry Machinery
Company.
Lynch Brothers, carriages.
Magee Furnace Company.
T. Martin and Brother Manufacturing
Company, elastic goods.
Lyman M. Miller, varnishes.
Miller & Wolf, shoes.
Wm. J. Murdock & Company, electrical
supplies.
Parry Brick Company.
Parsons Mfg. Company, boxes.
Revere Rubber Company.
Sawyer Crystal Blue Company.
W. A. Snow & Company, stable fittings.
Stickeny & Tirrell, whiting.
Thomas Strahan & Company, wall
papers.
United Indigo and Chemical Co., Ltd.
Walker Brothers, bleachings and ex-
tracts.
A. G. Walton & Company, shoes.
As late as 1830, Winnisimmet was
of no importance except as a market
garden and a thoroughfare.
Of the seven hundred and seventy-
one inhabitants of Chelsea, but thirty
lived within the present limits of the
city.
What a change is revealed by the
above list of great and flourishing in-
dustries now located in this district !
No romance of Western development
is more astonishing. And the end is
not yet. There are still many ideal fac-
tory sites available and certain to be
utilized in the near future, making old
Chelsea one of the great industrial cen-
ters of the world.
The First American Ballet School
By ETHEL FORD
THE ballet is ever recurrent
throughout the pages of all
history. Since the days of
Lully the chronicling is of the ballet
as an actuality. Previous to this time
it took many shapes, — it flits about to
the delight of lords and ladies at a
court festivity; or, mayhap, we turn
to the page which tells of Queen Eliza-
beth and her guests dancing a ballet
after dinner. Again, it wears a mask
of solemn mien and is the pantomimic
sacrificial dance of antiquity. There
is no age in which we cannot at least
find a tendency which in purpose and
result may be characterized as the
ballet tendency of that age. Neverthe-
less, artistic ballet in its completest
florescence belongs to the time of
Xoverre, "the Shakespeare of the
Dance."
- Menestrier had said, "Ballets are
dumb comedies divided into acts and
scenes by recitations." Noverre, about
1750, said, "Ballet is the representa-
tion of passionate actions and human
feelings dramatically expressed by
gestures and dancing."
He took the world for the mise en
scene for the ballet and interpreted it
so extensively that some one said :
"Ah, next we will be dancing the max-
ims of Rochefoucauld." And Noverre
said the last word that has as yet been
said. However, the ballet has never
ceased to breathe. England has cor-
rupted it to the point of vulgarity
and America has had scarcely any
worthy of the name. Stanley Mak-
ower says something about the soul
of the ballet being a flower which
only blossoms once in a hundred
years. Perhaps the hundred count has
come.
The Boston Opera Ballet School is
26
the first ballet school established in
America. The trumpet sounded in
January a year ago. A tiny advertise-
ment asked for applicants for ballet
dancing, — for girls under twenty and
not too stout. The response was im-
mediate and remarkable. Girls from
all over the East replied by letter and
in person, — about two hundred in all.
Out of these fifty were selected. The
number was almost entirely composed
of saleswomen, clerks, or stenogra-
phers. There were only a very few
who had any previous stage experience.
They were given no salary during the
period of instruction.
The work is strenuous and, at first,
very fatiguing, but only two dropped
the work of their own accord and be-
cause it was beyond their strength.
Before the opening dates they had
mastered the ballets of all the operas
to be announced.
The opening night was the perform-
ance of "La Giaconda," in which the
ballet is important. The ballet was
the hit of the evening. "Aida" was
given two nights later, requiring an
entirely different style of interpreta-
tion, and was an equal success.
Since the opening the girls have
received a regular salary, about
equivalent to that of a school
teacher, and all thoroughly enjoy
their work.
The girls of the ballet school are
trained by the ballet mistress, Mad-
ame Bettina Muschietto, and by Mad-
ame Maria Paporello, leader of the
corps de ballet.
Both have danced in Europe as
premiere danseuse and know the art of
ballet dancing thoroughly. Their deep
sincerity and proficiency is an im-
THE FIRST AMERICAN BALLET SCHOOL
27
portant element in their success with
the ballet school.
Madame Muschietto was born in
Vienna. At seven years of age she en-
tered the Grand Opera School of Ballet
at Vienna. She went to an Italian mas-
ter for finishing ideas and at fifteen was
premiere in Vienna. She then went
to Prague, where she was premiere at
the National Theatre/ She was pre-
miere with
Fritzschi in
Berlin in
grand ballet
and also
under Imle
K i r a 1 fi in
London iri
the grand
ballet, "In-
dia." Under
Fritzschi the
workwasalso
grand ballet,
— "Pup'pen
Fee" and
"Meis s n e r
China."
She then
married and
came to the
Metropolitan
Company of
New York,
but gave up
the work of
a premiere.
There Con-
ried gave her
training o f
girls import-
ed for ballet
work. "It
was very ex-
" she
Madame Bettina Muschietto, baixet mistress
pensive,
said, /'and very unsatisfactory." Ma-
dame Muschietto then came to Boston
to be ballet-mistress for the school pro-
posed by Mr. Russell. Out of the fifty
girls chosen but thirty-six were re-
tained.. "It is very hard," said Mme.
Muschietto. "Some are not limber
enough, others lack courage. On
account of the newness of things some
difficulties were encountered. In
Europe every theatre has a practice
room especially for the ballet, — the
ballet is very important in Europe,
you know, — but here we practiced
in the main foyer and often with-
out music — I must know every
note. Ah, the ballet is an art.
One must be filled with the idea, as
an actor is. You must feel all you
do. A ballet
dancer
'speaks'
with her
feet and
arms. You
need not ask
her, -What
do you do ?'
It is more
than merely
knowing the
steps. To be
a good pre-
miere means
at least four
or five hours
of practice
every day.
One master
shows one
idea, another
makes you
proficient in
another
point. Then,
after one is-
about twen-
ty-six she be-
gins to see
all, — to see
the bigness
of her art,
and ah, when
one under-
stands all then the real satisfaction
comes. But ah, soon she is too old.
"One thing I long to enjoy before
I die, — to give away what I have. I
never wanted to as I do now since I
have seen what American girls can do
and how clever they are. Yes, I want
to have my own private school. I
can't believe how the eirls did it.
28
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
Such alertness ! Such memory ! Some-
times things would be changed at the
last minute and I must have but one
rehearsal on the substituted work, but
they never failed me.
"There are not many premieres now-
adays. The new and modern life has
not required them. There are so
many dancers now, you know, who
simply appear undressed that there is
no more interest in the real grand
ballet. There
is a great art
in pantomime
and it takes
much study.
Every move-
ment says a
word.
"I am not
hard on the
girls. I try
to let them
see I am
their friend,
and they
come to me
with all their
troubles and
joys.
"The first
exercises are
those used
for the form-
ing of the
feet and in
which the
heels are
placed to-
g e t h e r so
that from
toe to toe
forms a
straight line.
Next come
the arm
movements. There is a series of slow
movements, 'Adagio,' which are very
difficult. A movement is taken, per-
haps one foot is in the air — and then
the pupil must pose there. This is to
acquire balance. Then come the steps.
The better a ballet master is the more
steps he knows," says Madame Mu-
schietto. "After the steps comes the
Maria Paporello, trader oe the corps de bai^et
toe work, — pirouetting, jumping on the
toe and 'adagio' poses, while standing
on the toe.
"I like Giaconda best," says Madame
Muschietto. "It is the longest and
most satisfactory. The music in the
'Dance of the Hours' lifts you up. So
much depends on whether the music
is inspiring to make the ballet a real
enjoyment to the dancer."
The leader of the corps de ballet is
Mme. Maria
Paporello, a
petite, grace-
ful bit of
slenderness
with honest
blue eyes
and a most
charming
manner. She
was born in
Turin, Italy,
and her
mother, Em-
ma Paporel-
lo, was a pre-
miere dan-
s e u s e in
France and
in America.
Her father
was an or-
chestra mu-
sician. Maria
was two
months old
when her
mother came
to the Metro-
p o 1 i t a n as
premiere. At
fourteen she,
too, came to
America, and
at fifteen she
danced at the Metropolitan as one of
the corps de ballet under Maurice
Grau. She remained there two seasons
and then went to Klaw and Erlanger
as the leader in "Ben Hur" and in the
"Humpty Dumpty" ballet. She was
with Mr. Russell for two seasons in
the San Carlos Opera Company and
last season she was with Hammerstein
THE FIRST AMERICAN BALLET SCHOOL
29
as leader of the corps de ballet. Since
the opening of the Boston Opera she
has assisted in the training of the girls
and is their leader. She was most
pathetic as she said, "Oh, how ha,rd it
all was. The first season I cried every
night. My mother trained me and it
was all so easy for her that she had
no patience with me. My muscles got
so sore, but she would only make me
work harder. She wanted me to be
perfect and I am glad now, but it
was so hard then. Ah, how badly
I. felt when I would get my arms and
legs right but not my head. I re-
member once when I did that very
thing and my mother came and turned
my head until I thought I could not
stand it, to make me remember. Then,
too, I must remember to finish each
action in a position so that I could
readily go to one side, — and many
other things.
"My mother taught me all alone.
She was all wrapped up in her work.
She never stopped working and would
never let me stop. Even while I ate
I must work. She would say, 'How
do you do this, — and that?' and make
me go over it with my hands. Then
I must explain a whole dance entirely
through to her. Oh, I would get so
tired, and my limbs so sore, but on
and on.
"But I am glad now, because I know
how hard it is."
The ballet has been received with
the utmost enthusiasm. Mr. Theodore
Bauer, the efficient press representa-
tive of the Boston Opera Company,
with his keen appreciation of artistic
values, has recognized the value of the
ballet, and has lost no opportunity of
bringing it to the notice of the public.
Its creation, development and suc-
cess have been caused and sustained
largely by the untiring efforts of Mr.
Henry Russell.
To see this newly created American
ballet is to realize that America is
opening her arms to a new art. Bos-
ton once more is the first to exploit
American artistic possibilities and
gives her promise to the operatic world.
Summer practice of the corps de baixet oE Boston opera
A Maxim to Trust
By FRANCIS HATHAWAY
Author of "The Fealty of Ling Sien Sun," etc.
SN'T it great, Jack?"
said Bobs. "Mother's
got one of those
new Maxim sixty
horse-power touring
cars, and I'm going
out with Pierre to-
morrow to take my
first lesson in run-
ning it. You know
I've never handled
anything bigger than
a forty before, and I'm crazy to learn
to run this one."
"Why, that's funny," I replied. "The
Dad's just got one of those cars, too.
It's the greatest car on the market to-
day. But they're a pretty big proposi-
tion for a girl like you, Bobs. Don't
you think — "
"Why, Jack," she cried, "no such
thing. You know I can handle any-
thing on four wheels and I just love — "
"Yes," I interrupted, " — and any man
on two legs, and you don't love — the
right one."
"Now, Jack," she remonstrated,
"don't get tiresome. If you do I shall
leave this nice little cosy corner, and
go back into the ball-room, and I don't
want to do that, because if I do, that
horrid Percy Breckenridge will find
me and claim this dance, and I just
want to hide from him."
"And I suppose that's the only
reason why you sat it out with me," I
said, bitterly. "Bobs, you're not play-
ing the game with me. Don't all my
years of devotion count for something
with you? Don't — can't — "
"Oh, dear," wailed Bobs, with an
intonation of mock despair that would
have been funny had it not all meant
30
so much to me. "Now you are going
to be silly again and make me cross.
Well," with feigned resignation, "J
suppose you are going to make me
your usual proposal. If so, for good-
ness sake hurry up and get it over."
"Bobs," I said, sternly, "you know
without my having to tell you again
that I love you, and that I have always
loved you ever since we were kids,
and shall go on loving you forever and
ever and ever — "
" 'World without end,' " she quoted,
mischievously, interrupting, "Well, is
this another of your periodical pro-
posals?"
"Miss Roberta Brewster," I said,
stiffly, for her manner stung me, "I
have the honor once more to ask you
to marry me."
She rose from her seat and swept me
an ironic courtesy.
"And I have the honor of declining,
Mr. Jack Wolcott," she said, ceremoni-
ously. "And now if you'll have the
goodness to take me back to momma
I'll relieve you of your care of me."
"By Jupiter," I cried, angrily, as I
arose and formally gave her my arm.
"Some day you'll drive me to despera-
tion and I'll just carry you off and
marry you out of hand, and — "
"Do," she exploded, turning to me
with her eyes flashing and her chin in
the air, angrily challenging me.
And just then up came that simper-
ing ass Breckenridge, claiming what
was left of the dance, and she went off
on his arm, smiling on him as if he was
the candiest thing that ever happened.
I knew, in my heart, that she didn't
care a rap for him, but, all the same,
it made me sick and miserable, and so
A MAXIM TO TRUST
31
I sought my coat and hat, and made
my way home to the apartment which
I shared with my widowered father.
It was true, as I had said, that I had
loved Roberta, or as I had always
affectionately called her, "Bobs," ever
since when I was a lad of fourteen, she
had come into my life, an enchanting
little fairy of eleven. We had been de-
voted to each other, the source of in-
dulgent amusement to our elders. From
the first, with the innocent optimism of
youth, I had stoutly declared, and she
had agreed, that she was to be my
little wife. We had grown up together
in a close companionship, for our
fathers — until the death of hers some
three years earlier — and her mother —
I had never known mine, who had died
in giving me life — had been intimate
friends. I had always been passion-
ately devoted to all kinds of sports, and
— if I do say it — had excelled in most,
and it had been an intense delight to
me to create and develop a fondness
for them in my little companion, and an
unending pleasure to watch her grow-
ing proficiency, until in most lines she
was as efficient as the limitations of
her sex would allow. And I was proud
of her; and oh, how I loved her.
And my love never waned or flick-
ered for one instant, but had grown
stronger and deeper as the years had
passed, so that from boyish adulation
it had developed into the living, grip-
ping passion of the strong man, and I
knew that she was the only woman I
should ever love and that I should love
her as long as life lasted.
Her childish love for me. seemed to
cling to her until, when I was nineteen
and through my Freshman year at col-
lege and she was sixteen, she had gone
abroad with her mother, after her
father's death, and I had not seen her
for three years. During all that time
we had corresponded regularly, and,
with the egregious self-confidence of
youth, I had looked forward to her re-
turn with the full anticipation of our
being promptly married. But I was
soon and bitterly disillusioned, for
when she came back I found in her a
subtle change. She had left me an
adorable, bewitching child; she re-
turned an entrancing, ravishingly
beautiful, but elusive woman ; my com-
rade still, as of old, in many ways ; but
a tantalizing, mischievous spirit. But
I loved her more than ever.
She came back the summer I left col-
lege, now two years ago, and during
that time I had been dividing my time
between reading law in my father's
office and making love to her. Deep
down in my heart I believed that she
loved me, too ; and so, although I
yearned with all that was man in me to
win her and wear her, I had been con-
tent to accept her frivolous attitude of
refusing to treat as serious the repeated
proposals that I lost no opportunity
of making to her. The fact that she
had come to treat them as a mild joke
and pretend that our meetings were
not complete without one, had only
served to mildly amuse me, and, here-
tofore, although serious enough in my
intentions, God knows, I had more or
less fallen into her humor.
But of late, horrid, awesome doubts
had begun to disquiet me ; I had bitter
fits of jealousy as I saw other men
swarming about her, and the black,
heart-stopping fear of the thought of
having to go through life without her
had gripped me : and to-night my love
had overwhelmed me and just when I
had most wanted to lay my love before
her in all its deep strength and tender-
ness and sincerity, my agony of fears
and doubt and anxiety and my
wretched quick temper had made me
hard and bitter. And so I had lost
her ! And oh, God ! How I loved her !
So, as I walked down Common-
wealth Avenue the next morning, after
a sleepless night of tossing and turn-
ing, I was in anything but a hopeful
and happy mood. In fact I was
thoroughly blue and miserable. But
as I passed the Fontainbleau apart-
ment house where Bobs and her mother
lived, I mechanically looked up at the
window from which she was wont on
most mornings to wave me a greeting,
and my heart, insensibly hoping, I sup-
pose, sank deeper than ever as she did
not appear. Well, it was all over, I
32
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
thought. I had been living in a fool's
paradise. But now my dream of bliss
was over. Heretofore when we had
had any little squabble Bobs had mag-
nanimously overlooked everything and
forgotten it by the next day, and would
wave to me from the window, and
everything would go on as before, and
I, weak fool, had been glad to have it
so. But this time — well, I'd go abroad
for a year or two — and kill something,
— big game, — India, Africa, any old
place, — what did it matter?
Just as I was passing the door I
turned my eyes toward the curb and
was at once attracted by a handsome,
big car standing there without any
attendant. Now, both Bobs and I are
— as she expresses it — "crazy about
automobiles," and, next to her, they
are the things that I am most inter-
ested in and love best. I could see
it was a new type of car and turned to
examine it. I saw at once it was a 60-
H.P. Maxim and as I had seen very
little of this most recent car I was
at once much interested, and proceeded
to" examine it.
I was so deeply engrossed that I
failed to hear any approaching foot-
steps, and was startled when a voice
said :
"Hullo, Jack."
Just like that, "Hullo, Jack." Just
as if nothing had happened. Great
Caesar! Of course it was Bobs. That's
just Bobs' way. Joy welled up in my
heart with a sudden surge that almost
stopped it, and the day suddenly be-
came beautiful. And how sweet and
beautiful and altogether lovable she
looked. She was dressed as I like best
to see her. Plainly but richly. None
of your big, flaring, flashy hats, but
some quiet, little round thing, mostly
of grey squirrel fur, trimmed with blue
that matched her glorious eyes, and a
long, loose coat of the same, which,
being yet unbottoned, -showed a neat,
close-fitting gown of grey (grey is her
most becoming color), plentifully and
temptingly trimmed and inserted (or
whatever you call it) with lace and
grey silk cord, grey gloves on her little
hands, and grey boots peeping out
under her gown, — just a symphony in
grey. And she was smiling bewilder-
ingly.
"Hullo," I said, as soon as I could
get my breath, "I was just looking
over the machine."
"Jack," she commanded, "take me
for a ride."
"All right," I said, with never a
thought- but for the delirious fact that
she was to sit beside me and that I
was to have her all to myself and that
the sun was shining as it had never
shone before.
If I could ever be happier than I
was during that ride I just couldn't
stand it, that's all. If Heaven is any
better — but, there, it just couldn't be.
It was enchantment and no less. My
beautiful Bobs was her own dear, sweet
little self, my own dear little comrade,
and she chatted and laughed and
teased, and I knew she was as happy
as she was making me, and I felt the
old glamor stealing over me and the
old belief that she loved me as I loved
her, and that it would all come right.
And my heart beat sixteen to the dozen
and the blood surged up into my head
at the thought, and I made up my mind
that this time there should be no mis-
take, but that before we got home
again there should be an understand-
ing, that she should know that my
love was too great and strong to be
played with any longer and that she
must come to me.
And the car was like an enchanted
car, too. With all our joy in just be-
ing alive and together, or perhaps be-
cause of it, we took the pleasure of en-
thusiasts in the car and in the running
of it. It certainly was a marvel. The
very last word in automobiles. I tried
it out and tested it in every way, and
when opportunity permitted, speeded
it out, and we rolled off the miles at
—well, away above all speed limits —
and as smoothly and softly as if sitting
in our own armchairs.
It was a combination of all delights.
But the sun couldn't shine like that
without a cloud coming over it.
We were approaching Walpole
when, very reluctantly, I said :
A MAXIM TO TRUST
33
"How far do you want to go? Isn't
it time to turn back?"
"Oh, Jack," she said, reproachfully,
"do you want to go back? I don't.
Aren't you having a perfectly lovely
time? Can't we go on and on and on,
and have luncheon somewhere and
come back in the afternoon?"
"Bobs," I said ecstatically, "you
know I'd go to the end of the
world and over it with you." (And
strangely enough she didn't rebuke me,
as I had secretly feared.) "Only your
mother doesn't know where you are."
"Telephone," she ordered, imperi-
ously.
So the first chance I got I called
up her mother, but without eliciting
any response. Then I called up Pierre
at the garage, but he was out. Then I
called up my office to tell my father
not to expect me, and he was out.
"I couldn't get your mother or my
father," I told Bobs, as I got into the
machine again, "so now what do you
say? Shall we go on and make a day
of it or do you think you'd better go
back?"
"Oh, it's so heavenly, let's go on.
Mamma won't care anyway, and may-
be we can call her up later."
"All right," I said, as I threw in the
speed clutch. "I tried to get your
chauffeur at the garage — "
"Pierre?" she asked, wonderingly.
"Yes. So he wouldn't worry — "
"Worry?" she questioned, perplex-
edly. "Pierre worry about me?"
"Well, no," I laughed, "not about
you exactly. But about your mother's
car."
"My mother's car," she exclaimed ;
then sitting up suddenly, she excitedly
put her hand on my arm so as to cause
the car to swerve dangerously. "Jack,"
she said, "this isn't mother's car. Do
you mean to say — "
"Don't do that, Bobs," I said. "Don't
lose your nerve. It's dangerous. If this
isn't your mother's car, whose is it?"
"Isn't it your father's?"
"My father's," I laughed, still un-
suspicious of the facts. "Why, no
indeed. I thought it was your
mother's."
"Jack Wolcott," she declared, with a
frightened voice. "You've stolen
somebody's car."
"Great Guns !" I exclaimed, and al-
most instinctively I slowed down.
I thought rapidly for a few minutes.
Whose car had I stolen? I tried to
think of who were the possessors of
Maxim cars. I couldn't remember. If
it was some friend of mine I could
easily explain and square myself. If
not, it might be made very uncomfort-
able to me and to the dear little girl at
my side before things could be straight-
ened out. We might be stopped any
moment. Already the telegraph and
telephone had probably served to notify
the police of all towns. Here was a
nice predicament.
Then the great, golden idea came
into my head, like a blessed inspiration.
In a moment we were whizzing along,
regardless of all speed regulations, and
I mutely watching the road, with my
teeth tightly clenched together. After
about ten minutes of this silent speed-
ing, a little, frightened voice spoke.
"Jack, you're going at awful speed
Where are we going? Aren't you go-
ing to turn back?"
"Not on your life," I said, with sav-
age glee, and truly I felt like a primi-
tive man. "We're going to get out
of the little state of Massachusetts
just as quick as this dear old space-an-
nihilator will take us. We're going to
get into Rhode Island, so as to post-
pone arrest. And above all, Bobsy, my
girl, we're heading for Providence,
where we are going to get married just
as quick as the law will do it."
"Married!" she gasped.
"Yep," I answered, tersely. "A mar-
ried woman can't testify against her
husband."
"You're running away with me?"
"That's what," I shouted, wild with
the intoxicating, glorious delight of
a new-found primal masterfulness.
"Same as I said I would last night." .
On we sped. Several attempts were
made to stop us, whether as motor
thieves or speed-law violators, I did
not know, and did not stop to enquire.
Bobs had been very quiet. I looked
34
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
around at her and caught a fleeting-
glance of timid enquiry, and then her
eyes dropped. I had to keep mine
pretty closely glued to the road.
"How about it, Bobsy?" I asked.
"I don't see how I can help it," she
answered, demurely, "when you go
and steal a car and run off with me."
We were nearing Providence by this
time, and in a quiet bit of road, I
slowed down.
"Bobs," I asked, as I turned to her,
"aren't you just a little bit glad? Can't
you say you're glad, dear? If not,
why I'll — "
"Jack Wolcott," she replied, and
there was a queer little catch in her
voice, "if you dare to dream of backing
out now, I'll never speak to you again."
And then I had her in my arms and
held her close to me, so that I could
feel her heart beating against my own,
and I looked down into those dear eyes
and saw there what every man looks
for once in the eyes of the woman he
loves, and I guess what she saw in
mine pleased and comforted her, for
her eyes were shining with happy
tears, and then I bent down and kissed
her in the silence which we two alone
could interpret.
Presently we came back to earth and
jogged on, but I was too glad and
happy to care whether I was "pinched"
or not.
"I'm sorry I was so nasty last night,
Bobs, dear," I said then.
"I'm not," she replied. "It's a thou-
sand times more delicious to be run
off with like this than just to be asked
and say yes in a ball-room or conser-
vatory or something like that, and just
get engaged like anybody else. And
I think you're just perfectly fine."
So what could I do but — well that's
nobody's business but our own.
"I wonder how Dad and your
mother'll take it," I said presently.
"Oh, they're sure to be nice, because
— well, because — Oh, Jack, haven't
you seen? — I think they've got a little
romance of their own. And I think it
would be just delightful if — "
"Why, you can't mean that," I ex-
claimed. "Why your mother is — "
"No such thing,"' flashed Bobs, the
loyal. "And even if she is, isn't she
the loveliest, sweetest, dearest woman
that ever lived?"
"Except one," I assented. "And
after all, the Dad's not so terribly old.
Only forty-eight, and if it'll make him
any happier, the dear old Dad, why,
I'm willing."
"So'm I," responded Bobs. "But
they probably won't ask our permis-
sion."
"Well, we'll give them a lead, any-
way," I said.
By this time we were into the city
and before I would put the machine
up we stopped at a jewelry store and
I got a couple of rings, and then we
went and the dearest little woman in
the world was made my wife. I
wasn't taking any chances, and got
the knot tied hard and fast before I
would expose myself at the garage.
But there was no question raised, and
after we had put the machine up we'
went to a hotel for our belated lunch-
eon.
We were nearly through the meal
when who should come into the din-
ing-room but Dad and Bobs' mother.
They saw us at the same moment we
saw them, and I thought they looked
curiously confused and embarrassed, as
well as astonished. They came to our
table and we rose to greet them. Bobs
and I were both a good deal rattled,
too ; but I determined to put a good
face on it, and own up all. Then all
of us said the same thing, simulta-
neously:
"Why, what are you doing here?"
Dad cleared his throat.
"Gertrude," he said to Bobs' mother,
"We might as well explain and — er —
tell the whole story now — er — as any
other, — as — er — its got to be told some-
time."
The whole thing flashed into my
mind at once.
"You're married, Dad," I cried,
seizing- him by the hand. "Isn't that
great? Well, so are we. Now let's
exchange blessings."
"Well, I'll be da— I mean hanged,"
said Dad. and he stepped over to where!
A MAXIM TO TRUST
Bobs and her mother were weeping on
each others necks, and took Bobs into
his arms and kissed her and said : "I'm
more glad, my dear, than I know how
to say," and, not to be out-done, I did
the same by my new mother, and then
we all sat down again. Dad called for
some more wine and everybody drank
everybody else's health, and we were all
happy as — oh, whatever you can think
of that's the happiest in the world.
And the dear old Dad looked really
young and handsome, and it was plain
to see that "Gertrude" thought so.
And I commenced to jolly the blessed
old chap and he came back at me and
didn't lose any points.
"We'd have been here ahead of you,
you young rascal," he said, "if some
infernal scoundrel hadn't stolen my
new Maxim. I left it outside the Fon-
tainbleau when I went up to get Gert
— that is — er — your mother, and while
I was up there — er — waiting for her to
put on her hat, some rascally black-
guard went off with it, and — "
"Dad," I said, when his words caused
the situation to dawn upon me, and
almost bursting with suppressed
laughter and relief, as I could see Bobs
was, too, "it's bad enough for you to
be such a gay Lothario at your time
of life, but it's outrageous for you to
call your son such names as those."
"What," he exclaimed, the truth
manifesting itself to him. "You young
jackanapes — "
"There you go again," I said, with
an injured air.
"Well, if that doesn't beat all," he
laughed. "It's a wonder you're not in
jail, for I put the police on the track
at once. But I'll fix that all right by
the 'phone just as soon as we've fin-
ished eating. You nearly put us in a
hole. But fortunately there was your
mother's Maxim, and I got that and
we came down in it; must have been
right behind you all the way, although
we didn't have quite the same incen-
tive for speed. Ha, ha, ha ! I guess
we'll have to go back together, so's I
can bail you out if you get arrested.
And I'll telephone up to the Touraine
and order a wedding supper. And, my
boy," he added, with a good deal of
feeling, "I guess you and I and these
two dear women owe our happiness
this day to the Maxim, so here's a last
toast : Here's to our wives and our
cars. When in trouble or doubt we'll
rely on those. It's a Maxim to trust."
WOOD LILIES
By ELEANOR ROBBINS WILSON
I know a lane in these midsummer days
Whose edge is thicketed with clear, cool green
Of elder, fern and vines of lowly mien,
That, wild and sweet, run unmolested ways
To frame the verdurous bowers, where ablaze
In witching scarlet the wood-lilies lean ; —
Gay gypsies, lending all the sylvan scene
A piquancy no frailer bloom essays.
Be lavish of your tents, O leafy lane !
And, wood-birds, pipe your merriest roundelay !
That these blithe transients of the summer noon
May be persuaded longer to remain ;
For surely from ,the green that skirts the way
We miss their lauofhine faces all too soon.
The Soul of Things
A GLIMPSE OF OXFORD UNIVERSITY
By ZITELLA COCKE
IN his latest play, which bears the
title of "Blue Bird," Maeterlink
tells us of a boy to whom an old
fairy gave a green hat with a diamond
ornament, and such was the power of
the diamond, that wherever he turned,
the soul of things was made visible.
Inanimate things, as well as animals,
became articulate. The dog, faithful,
intimate, and humorous ; the cat, trai-
torous, malicious, and satirical. Water
takes the form of a weeping girl ; fire
springs from the earth in red and yel-
low lights ; milk is characteristically
timid; sugar excessively sweet; while
light becomes an inquisitive image!
That a playful fancy should thus %
translate the phenomena of Nature, and
find tongues in trees, books in the
running brooks, and sermons in stones,
— aye, see spirits, demons and angels
in physical processes and the daily
course of events, is so traditional that
it excites no wonder; and yet, we
realize every day that to see the soul
of things in this commonplace is far
from being the usual experience of
men. It is quite true, that even in this
utilitarian age, man has not entirely
lost what Bishop Wescott so aptly
calls "the ennobling faculty of wonder."
Earth, air and light still teem with
mysteries which baffle the penetration
and research of science and philosophy,
and the things we do not know and
do not comprehend are still greater in
number than the things we understand.
Nevertheless, there are places upon
the face of the earth which not only
fill us with interest and admiration, but
call upon us to pause and ponder and
look upon the soul which lies behind
the things we see. The dead and
36
buried past rises and beckons to us, and
will not let us go, until we have listened
to her story. Such a spot is Oxford —
City and University — holding by gen-
eral consent a position which is unique
among all the cities and the universi-
ties of the world. Perhaps no one has
characterized the charm of Oxford
more forcibly or succinctly than the
eminent Dr. Fairbairn, late Principal
of Mansfield College, — an institution
which is new among the many posses-
sions of the historic town. "You can
leave London," says he, "and in sev-
enty minutes step out into what seems
like a town of the Middle Ages, or the
land of the lotus-eaters, where it is
always afternoon. Men go into the
college gardens and they feel the soft
turf and note its beauty, and they think
of the centuries that have gone to the
making of the turf, and the many more
to the making of the place. Men come
to see a university and what they find
is a City of Colleges. The colleges
constitute the university, but they did
not create it; for long before any col-
lege was, the university existed. Who
made it, no one can tell; in a sense it
never was made, it only grew; and
its roots go down into a past so remote
that men call it mythical."
And yet, in spite of the dignity and
glory of the university, the town per-
sistently refuses to take a second on
even a subordinate place in historical'
interest. In the early part of the tenth'
century Oxford held its own in namej
and importance. The Anglo-Saxonj
Chronicle tells us that in the year nine
hundred and twelve, "King Edwardl
took to himself Lundenbyrg (London)
and Oxnaford and all the lands that!
THE SOUL OF THINGS
:;7
were obedient thereto." From the fact
that it lay on the border of Mercia and
Wessex, holding the communication by
river from London and guarding the
great main roads, north to south and
east to west, which still cross each
it was ever a Roman station does not
appear, inasmuch as the Roman roads
pass it at considerable distance, but a
settlement made by the Britons was
destroyed by the Saxons and rebuilt by
Vortigern about the end of the fifth
■ -■v.;-
The Martyrs' memorial, Oxford
other at Carfax, its topographical posi-
tion gave it strategic importance. As
may be readily guessed, it owes its
name to the fact that near its site, the
fine gravel bed of the upper Thames
presented a safe ford for oxen. That
century. Before the Norman conquest
the city erected a chain of fortifications
which enabled it to resist the incursions
of the Danes, and even in these early
days, Oxford was the meeting-place of
the Gemote, or Great Council of the
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
The Quadrangle, Corpus Christi col-
lege, Oxford
nation, and here the illustrious Harold
Harefoot was crowned. It was at
Carfax, in the churchyard of St. Mar-
tin's, that the early Town Councils
were conducted, under the name of
Portmanninotes. For centuries this-
spot was the very centre of corporate
life, and in medieval times, was con-
spicuous as the rallying-point of the
citizens in the frequent, and sometimes
the sanguinary, conflicts between town
and town. The very hero of chivalry
and romance, Richard Coeur de Lion,
was born in the Royal Palace of Beau-
mont, built by Henry I., and from
which the present Beaumont Street
was named. Here fair Queen Eleanor
dispensed most gracious favor and
bounty from the palace where she
often resided, and at the foot of this
famous street stands Worcester Col-
lege, on the site of Gloucester Hall, a
thirteenth century construction, where
lay the body of the beautiful Amy
Robsart, after her unfortunate and un-
timely death.
It was in the reign of Henry III. that
the city walls, following the lines of
the old fortifications designated in
Domesday Book, were constructed, and
the grounds of New College show to-
day a fragment of those walls which
holds an irresistible fascination for
every student who visits the quaint and
venerable city. This fragment of
ancient masonry forms the boundary
line of the gardens of New College, —
the remains only of a formerly strong,
perhaps in that day invincible, fortifi-
cation against the inroads of marau-
ders, — but gaze upon it — think upon it
— recall the hands and the minds which
built and designed it, and if you are
blessed with one spark of imagination,
or with one emotion of reverence, you
will be transported in thought across
centuries of history, and will live for
a while in a past which is hoary with
age. The university church, which is
also the parish church of St. Mary-the-
Virgin, not only charms the beholder
with its unique and picturesque beauty,
but offers a rich mine of interest to
the historian and the antiquarian. In
the seventeenth century the curious
porch, with its image of the Virgin,
was wrought, under the influence of
Laud, who suffered a martyr's death.
Here in the fourteenth century the
brave and conscientious Wycliffe boldly
proclaimed the spiritual freedom of
mankind. In this church, in the year
1554, Ridley and Latimer were cited
for trial and condemned to martyr-
dom, and within these walls in the
year 1556, Archbishop Cranmer made
his final and pathetic address before
going to his death by fire. Here were
preached the dogmas, the tenets, the
hopes of various schools of thought and
learning through many generations,
and here men dared to speak what they
believed to be true, with the full
knowledge that the reward of such
speech would be a speedy and an aw-
ful death.
Yet the well-trodden street and the
common road are as eloquent of won-
drous deeds and sublime fortitude as
THE SOUL OF THINGS
3 ( .)
any monumental pile. Aye, the very
stones in the pathways cry out and
will not hold their peace. O ye who
hasten and bustle in and out of garden
and college, — who hurry and jostle
each other upon the highways in your
laudable desire to accomplish as much
of sight-seeing in one morning as is
possible for the busy man, — who pass
by, with careless indifference, the spots
which are sacred landmarks in the
development and civilization of hu-
manity and the progress of the world, —
who crowd into a few hours that which
bulwarks, which have withstood full
many an onslaught, and to remember
her honorable sons, who have made her
one of the most renowned cities of
history. Mr. Marriott speaks without
partiality and exaggeration in the
memorable words : "As frontier town,
as venerated shrine, as fortified burgh,
as gemote place both before and after
the Conquest, as Norman fortress, as
royal residence, as the seat of Priory
and Abbey, as a famous market and
possessor of a Merchant Guild, —
Oxford was a famous city before it was
The Sir Joshua Reynolds windows, New cou,EGE, OxEord
months could not suffice, — is it nothing
to you that men have suffered and
died for the blessing, the privilege,
aye, the right, which is to you to-day
as free as the air you breathe, and as
broad as the common light of day !
Yours, in sooth, without the asking, —
yours for all time and indeed for all
eternity. The things you see are but
the worn and cast-off vestments of
that soul which once dwelt within
them, and you have not learned the
lesson they offer to you, until you have
felt the throbbings of that great soul
which alone renders them worthy. As
its present Chancellor, Lord Curzon,
aptly names it, "this ancient and im-
mortal place," — calls upon you to con-
sider her ways, and mark well her
the home of a still more famous uni-
versity."
It is not difficult to realize the
numerous and imperative demands
which are made upon the brain and the
heart of the ambitious student in this
busy and clamorous twentieth century.
Insistent and importunate, who shall
be able to resist them? The present
calls us with a thousand voices, and
reaches out to us ten thousand hands.
Let the dead past bury its dead, — the
present only is ours, and we must labor
in earnest and unceasingly if we would
possess the future ! Aye, but it is the
past which* both foretells and inter-
prets the future, and whoso scorns the
past, shall comprehend little of that
which shall be. The student who re-
4U
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
fuses to hear and heed the lesson to be
read in the things that were, who finds
not the soul in the things which have
been, shall hardly discern the true teach-
ing of that which is to come. The white
cross which lies upon the great high-
way of Broad Street, in the famous old
university town, calls aloud to every
passer-by to mark the wondrous deed
which still sheds its light throughout
a naughty world. The very words of
the martyr Latimer are ringing in the
air if we will but listen: "Be of good
courage, Master Ridley, and play the
man; for this day we shall light a
candle in England which shall never
be put out! 5 '
To-day this candle shines for you,
O ye toilers in the living present, and
how clear, how bright is its flame ! By
its unfailing light how many a mystery
ye shall read and how many a new
candle shall be kindled until the whole
world shall be full of light ! Great
ones have died that the soul of things
might be made visible to you, and they
have not died in vain if ye are but
willing to see. Already across the
ocean, full many a flame, lit at this
venerable shrine, is burning with ever-
increasing light. As Marie Corelli, the
well-known novelist, says : "You may
call it a romantic notion perhaps, but I
should like to think that the house of
John Harvard's mother was a link
with John Harvard's university, and a
sign of friendship between the two na-
tions." It was from Cambridge, on the
banks of the beautiful Cam, that John
Harvard, through the benevolent
patronage of Mildmay, himself a Cam-
bridge man, drew his inspiration, and
from that reverend university which
makes the town of Cambridge famous,
he acquired a love of learning and the
power to see and feel the soul of things,
and doubtless by its spirit was incited
to plant in the Cambridge of the new
world the scion which was to grow
into the noble tree which now stands
upon the shores of the Charles.
The author of the Declaration of In-
dependence, Thomas Jefferson, was not
slow to perceive the soul of things
made manifest by the great universities
of the old world. In them and by the
light they shed, he read the lesson
which pointed the way to the true
greatness of a nation. He realized
that mere statistics of material pos-
sessions neither constitute a people's
wealth nor reveal the nature of a
people's inner life. In a nation as in
the individual, it is the being rather
than the having which goes to the
formation of character and power as
the result of character. Hence, the
great statesman felt as much pride in
the establishment of the university of
Virginia as he did in the writing of the
Declaration of Independence with
which his name and fame are forever
associated. In death as in life its weal
'was one of the dearest desires of his
heart, for in its prosperity he saw the
well-being of Virginia and of the whole
nation, and to-day in the universities of
Germany, — institutions which Jeffer-
son so profoundly admired — it is not
unusual to hear the noble seat of learn-
ing which is the pride of Virginia re-
ferred to as a sister university of which
Germany is proud.
From another state in New England,
the University of Yale calls upon the
citizens of the Great Republic to see
the soul of things, rather than material
advantage — to realize the things which
make a nation truly great, and east
and west, and north and south, not only
in Europe, but in this the new world,
behold how many a light a little
candle has kindled !
Yet picturesqueness is so deeply in-
grained into every view of the ancient
city of Oxford, that the relentless hand
of Time seems unable to destroy it.
Lo, imagination comes at once to the
rescue of college and street and garden,
with such insistent and with such be-
guiling voice, that the stranger who
gazes upon them is laid under a spell
which all the utilitarianism- of modern-
ty cannot break. It is the voice of the
wonderful Past, which will be heard
over and above the clamorous tones
of the Present. Pie can but harken to
the bells of St. Mary's and of Carfax
clanging the good tidings that the
Spanish Armada had gone down be-
I
THE SOUL OF THINGS
41
fore the might of Elizabeth's fleet, —
he must needs hear the shouts of town
and gown, who have forgotten their
own quarrels in one common rejoic-
ing and clap hands and toss caps as
they drink the health of good Queen
Bess. As he stands upon High Street
and beholds as Wordsworth wrote of
it : "The stream like windings of that
glorious street," he can almost see be-
fore him the pathetic figure of Charles
I. who refuses to forget that he is king
by a right divine. Scarcely four hun-
of the past will be seen in the Oxford
of the present, in spite of the ravages
and amendments of time. A poet of
the olden days, even in these latter
days of railways and automobiles
sings in our ears the lines so well
known and loved in his generation :
"Trust me, Plantagent, these Oxford
schools
Are richly seated by the river-side :
The mountains full of fat and fallow
deer,
NEW BUIIyDING AND DINING HAI,T,, KEBI,E CoU,EGE, OxEORD
dred yards away Ridley and Latimer
died for the truth of the Eternal God,
and lit the candle which has flooded
the world with light ! The towers of
Merton and of Christ Church, — the
spires of All Saints and the great dome
of the Radclifle Library are calling
and telling the wondrous deeds of
yore. The long line of the green-
muffled hills of Cumnor and the dark
wooded heights of Wytham are- still
beautiful with the charm of romance,
and still eloquent of the deeds and sor-
rows of hero and heroine. The Oxford
The battling pastures lade with kine
and flocks,
The town gorgeous with high-built
colleges,
And scholars seemly in their grave
attire,
Learned in searching principles of
art."
The soul of things is immortal, mani-
festing itself to all who have the eyes
to see. The spirits of the great ones
who have lived and labored for the
welfare of mankind are truly the presid-
42
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
ing geniuses of the venerable city and
colleges. What boots it that King
Alfred may not have founded Diver-
sity College, — munificence which the
bygone ages loved to believe was his?
What if this belief, once so fondly
cherished, be an exploded myth? One
needs not that belief to cherish faith in
his greatness, nor, indeed, to look
upon King Alfred's jewel, which is
exhibited in the new Ashmolean Mu-
seum, to realize that his genius, so to
speak, still presides over all and every-
thing which helps to make the great-
ness of Oxford. There was that in
the character of King Alfred the Great
which shall always make itself felt
throughout England. His life and his
words taught the English people to
discern the soul of things, and not with-
out reason was he called England's
Darling, who endured the slings and
arrows of misfortune with a fortitude
which was sublime, and saw the bow
of promise behind clouds which were
black with gloom and threatening. It
is indeed wonderful how the mind of
the commonplace visitor to the city
of colleges loves to revert to the life
and virtues of the great Saxon king,
and would fain accept the traditions
which would make him the vital breath
of all good and sound learning. Was
it not he, forsooth, who invited scholars
of foreign countries to come to Eng-
land? Can one think of Werfrith,
bishop of Worcester, of Ethelstan and
Werwulf, of Mercia, of Plegmund and
Asser and Grimbald without remem-
bering the fact that they were called
the scholars of King Alfred the Great !
One can hardly forget how the poet
Shelley was impressed with the atmo-
sphere of Oxford, and how, like a tonic,
it acted upon hfs own spirit. Its water
and its wood were to him an unfailing
source of joy. Although his stay in
the great seat of learning was com-
paratively short and his expulsion as
humiliating as it was unjust, — a cruelty
under which his soul never ceased to
writhe, — he never denied or forgot the
charm which the revered spot held for
him and often repeated the lines writ-
ten in the last half of the sixteenth
century by a poet as gentle as he was
quaint — Ralph Aggas :
Ancient Oxford ! noble nurse of skill !
A citie seated riche in everythinge :
Girt with woode and water.
In his daily walks by stream and
through the paths of garden and wood,
he would seize his companion by the
arm and burst forth into rapturous
admiration: "What city is so fair as
Oxford? What gardens so enchant-
ing? What nightingales ever poured
forth such song?" Like Keats, he
often declared High Street to be the
finest street in Europe, and the en-
trance to the city over Magdalen
Bridge unsurpassed in beauty by any
highway in the world. How bitterly
he deplored his departure none knew
or appreciated except his most intimate
friends. The whirligig of Time has
indeed brought in its revenge, we are
compelled to realize when we gaze
upon the beautiful monument of the
drowned poet, which now occupies a
niche in University College, not re-
mote from the apartment in which he
lived while he was a student in the
same college. How fair it is ! How
vividly the sight of it recalls his pas-
sionate love of Oxford's rivers and
waterways, and how prophetic seems
the rebuke of his friend, who, warning
him against his dangerous and too fre-
quent adventures," earnestly said to
him : "Shelley, some day you will be
a victim of the water you love so
much !"
Not far from this shrine, which is
visited every year by more than
twenty thousand tourists, is the cham-
ber in which he reviled the cruel and
unjust mandate which drove him from
the place he loved above all others.
The friend who shared his expulsion
from the university describes him as
sitting with bowed head, and hands
over his face, exclaiming in very
a^ony of soul: "Expelled! Expelled!
Think of it. Expelled!" In vain did
this friend seek to calm his perturbed
spirit, and not until they were well on
their way to London was the unhappy
i
THE SOUL OF THINGS
43
victim of prejudice and injustice won
over to a calm acceptance of his fate.
From every part of the world, — the
natives of India, Arabia, and Egypt, as
well as the scholars and artists of
Europe, — come those who love the
poetry and name of Shelley. As they
gaze upon it, the cold marble seems to
leap into life, and they can almost
hear from the lips of the statue those
lines of Shakespeare which were so
often on the lips of the poet:
"Nothing
But doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange."
vision beholds the soul of things. The
hated, rejected and disowned is now
restored to his own — the expelled and
contemned, cordially welcomed with
eager and loving hands.
It was Shelley who thought, as all
admit now, that no approach to Oxford
was comparable to the old coach road
from London, by way of Henley over
Magdalen Bridge, which itself is a
thing of beauty. Railways and rail-
way stations are sadly destructive of
the picturesque, and the modern
visitor was wont to lose much of the
charm of the grand old city by taking
the train rather than the coach, but
High street, Oxford
To-day the visitor to the world-
amous Bodleian Library is requested
o examine the Shelley Memorials, —
the disjecta membra" of manuscripts
nd personal belongings of the poet,
>estowed, as was the monument, by
vlrs. Shelley. The delicate, literary
andwriting is at once recognizable by
11 who have seen the fac-simile. The
resence of those memorials, now es-
eemed so precious and exhibited under
glass case, is indisputable proof of
lie clearness with which the modern
history loves to repeat itself, and in
these latter days, the automobile is
conveying the sight-seer over the same
road so much traveled in the coaching
days of yore. No city- in the world
has so beautiful an entrance as Oxford,
over Magdalen Bridge by the noble
tower and the famous college which
King James was accustomed to speak
of as "the most absolute building in the
city," and which the historian Anthony
A. Wood called "the most noble and
rich structure in the learned world."
44
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
The first view of the many towers
and spires bursts upon the beholder
like a vision of enchantment, and he
is almost seized with the conviction
that nowhere in all the world can river-
banks seem so fair or gardens so fit
for nightingales, and in no other land
can one see a town so rich in court and
tower! Surely the face of the earth
does not show such a union of beauti-
ful streams-! The Isis, the Upper
River and the Cherwell combine to
make good the ancient city. By dis-
tinction, the Isis is commonly called
"The River," and many a mood she
takes through the winter and summer,
but never one which does not possess
a charm for the students who have
learned to love her; hence it was but
natural that Keats should think with
Shelley concerning the plenitude of
beauty which belongs to this historic
seat of learning. It could not be that
these kindred spirits should differ in
opinion, as we find in the hearty and
generous confession made by Keats in
his letters : "This Oxford I cannot
doubt is the finest city in the world,
— it is full of old Gothic buildings,
spires, towers, quadrangles, cloisters,
and groves, and is surrounded with
more clear streams than ever I saw
together." Besides the particular in-
terest which perforce attaches to such
a great variety of architecture, there
is a gentle and puissant influence
which nothing can escape, harmonizing
Gothic and Norman and Modern in
such a way that the tout ensemble can be
characterized only as Oxford Archi-
tecture. History, romance, learning
adventure, and peace and war speak
to us from road and garden and church
and pinnacle, not only of hero and
heroine — not only of martyr and
saint, but of the soul of things which
more and more reveals itself to every
succeeding generation. The radiant
glass, which repeats the story of the
past, holds eye and heart by an ir-
resistible spell, and yet the wonderful
window designed by Sir Joshua Rey-
nolds is scarcely more eloquent or more
beautiful than the work of Burne-Jones
in Manchester College, where the
figures seem to leap into life and fill the
whole chapel with exquisite color. The
chapel of Keble College, too recent
to possess the charm which antiquity
bestows, is a marvel of beauty, adjust-
ing itself, so to speak, to its noble en-
vironage in fresco, mosaic, and reredos.
He, for whom it is named, knew and
loved the ancient seat of learning as
few loved it, and felt as few could
feel the soul of things in all its glori-
ous history. Lesson and phophecy he
read in every monument and in none
more than in the Martyrs' Memorial,
which he voices in the words :
"Their God was with them and the
glare
Of their death-fires still lights the
land to truth
To show that might is in a martyr's ;
prayer.
Read and rejoice : yet humbly, for our !
strife
Is perilous like theirs, for death or
life."
I
Gathering Shadows
By PAULINE CARRINGTON BOUVE
O glories of the sunset !
lights across the sea !
In the long, long, sad twilight,
When you have gone from me,
And like a lost child in the
night
1 dream of bird and tree, —
In the long, long, sad twilight,
How strange, how strange
'twill be !
O gold of morn and evening!
O silver sheen of night !
When the dark veil of shadows
Shall wrap you from my sight,
The memory of your beauty
Shall cheer the lengthened
gloom
That hides the dear, familiar
things
In my close-curtained room.
Then in my spirit's vision,
Each blade and bud and tree,
And every gentle, tender smile
That used to gladden me,
Perchance in that long twilight
May bloom and bless me still,
Fadeless and tender always,
Safe from all change and chill.
O glories of the sunset !
O faces loved so well !
These sightless eyes shall keep you
By that most wondrous spell
Of Love that bears, uplifting
The broken wing's last flight,
And gives blind eyes fair visions
Through the long, weary night !
45
AUTOMOBILIA
Timely Motor -world topics by William D. Soliier, George L. Ellsworth, W. Mason Turner,
J. II. MacAlman, and Le Boy Cook
THE AUTOMOBILE AND THE ROADS
By COLONEL WILLIAM D. SOHIER
Member Massachusetts Highway Commission
EVERYONE admits that the mo-
tor vehicle has come to stay. Its
importance is constantly in-
creasing; its use is developing large
sections of country, not only near
our cities, but in rural communities —
in territory that heretofore has been
inaccessible. Its rubber tires, speed
and the tractive force it exerts on the
roads are forcing road engineers
throughout the world to seek methods
of construction which will withstand
this traffic.
Not only is the use of the automobile
increasing as a passenger carrier, but
the use of the motor truck and the
long-distance motor express wagon,
with their heavy loads and solid tires,
is raising new problems in road' build-
ing, which must be met and solved in
the near future if we are to maintain
good roads.
The increasing importance of the au-
tomobile in its relation to road con-
struction and maintenance is shown by
the fact that in London in 1904 there
were 51,000 motor vehicles registered,
and in 1907 there were nearly 124,000.
In 1903 only 3000 automobiles were
registered in Massachusetts, in 1906
6500, and in 1909 24,000.
The average increased cost of main-
tenance in the seven counties which ad-
join London, from 1901 to 1907, was
48 per cent. On some of the roads the
increased maintenance cost was 70 per
cent.
In Massachusetts, and probably in
46
all the New England States, the same
conditions exist.
The weight and power of automo-
biles are constantly increasing. In 1903
only 14 per cent, of the automobiles
registered in Massachusetts were over
10 horse-power, and in 1910 probably
more than 50 per cent, are over 20
horse-power.
The importance of the automobile
and its relation to the problem of road
construction and maintenance is clearly
shown by a traffic census which was
taken by the Massachusetts Highway
Commission in 1909 for fourteen hours a
day every day for one week in August
and one week in October, at 240 stations
located on state highways throughout
the Commonwealth. The average daily
traffic at all stations is shown below:
AVERAGE DAILY TRAFFIC AT
ALL STATIONS:
Horse-drawn vehicles —
August October
Census Census
Light 19,622 16,456
Heavy 17,969 i7>9°7
Totals 37,591 ^4423
Automobiles —
Runabouts 5,922 3,995
Touring cars 21,387 I4>5 X 4
Totals 27,309 18,509
Total vehicles of all
kinds 64,900 52,952
Percentage horse-drawn 58 65
Percentage automobiles 42 35
THE AUTOMOBILE AND THE ROADS
r,
Coi,onei, William D. Sohier
This shows an average traffic at all
stations of 274 vehicles per day in
August, of which 115 were automo-
biles, and in October 221 vehicles per
day, of which jj were automobiles.
While the average automobile traffic
on the state highways varied from 42
per cent, in August to 35 per cent, in
October, on the main routes, especially
near the large cities, the automobile
traffic was much greater.
For instance, at the Saugus River
bridge, out of a total of 1300 vehicles
per day in August, 1 177, or 90 per cent.,
were automobiles, and out of a total
of 715 vehicles in October, 640, or 90
per cent., were automobiles.
On the state highway in Beverly, out
of a total of 161 1 vehicles per day in
August, 976, or 61 per cent., were au-
tomobiles, and out of 1475 in October,
611, or 42 per cent., were automobiles.
4S
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
The same was true at other stations
where counts were made. For in-
stance, on the Metropolitan Parkway
in Milton, 53 per cent, of all travel was
automobiles, and in Somerville 66 per
cent. ; on Commonwealth avenue, Bos-
ton, 84 per cent, was automobiles in
August and 74 per cent, in October ; at
Jamaica Plain, 70 per cent, in August
and 69 per cent, in October.
The number of automobiles per day
on Commonwealth avenue was in ex-
cess of 2000.
In this connection it is interesting to
note that these main highways and
parkways near Boston have traffic that
is comparable with the traffic on some
of the main routes out of London. For
instance, on the main trunk road from
Watford to London the traffic averaged
1254 vehicles per day, which is about
the same as the traffic on the state
highway in Beverly, and less than half
the traffic on Commonwealth avenue,
in the city of Boston.
This large amount of automobile
travel has a very destructive effect on
our macadam roads. In Massachusetts,
however, the automobile owner is pay-
ing a substantial sum of money for reg-
istration fees, and this money is all
used for repairing state highways. It
is estimated that in 1910 the fees will
probably amount to about one-half the
money it is necessary to spend for
maintenance of the 800 miles of state
highways.
This traffic does, however, require
new methods of construction and main-
tenance. The rubber tires and their
tractive force tend to ravel the mac-
adam roads and to suck off the binder.
The roads must be adapted to this new
mode of travel.
Various methods have been tried to
keep the surface of the roads from be-
ing torn up. On old roads this has
usually been done by treating the sur-
face with oil, tar or some dust-layer. In
the building of new roads some bitu-
minous binder has been used. This has
either been spread upon the top of the
stones, or the stones have been coated
with the material before being spread
upon the road.
It is possible that some entirely new
materials and new methods of con-
structing roads will be discovered
Any method that is used will un-
doubtedly increase the cost of con-
struction and maintenance in the first
instance, at any rate; but it may be
found that the use of such binders re-
sults in longer life for the road, and a
consequent decreased yearly mainte-
nance cost.
It certainly seems probable that the
use of these binders and dust-layers,
which are made absolutely necessary
by the large amount of automobile
travel, will result in making more and
more miles of road dustless and con-
ditions more comfortable for the other
users of the highways, as well as the
people who dwell upon the roadsides.
It is probable also that, while the auto-
mobile will undoubtedly, for the time
being at least, increase the cost of road
building, the influence of automobile
owners will lead to a great demand for
better roads and better methods of con-
struction, as did the bicycle, and will
result in lasting good to the commu-
nity, as a whole.
The Automobile and The Law
By GEORGE L. ELLSWORTH
Assistant General Counsel, Automobile Legal Association
DESPITE the comparative nov-
elty of the automobile as a
means of transportation upon
the public highways, it has already
produced a far-reaching influence not
only upon commerce and industry, but
also upon legislation. Only a few
states have failed to enact a motor
vehicle law of some kind. In all the
other states the legislative enactments
have been constantly receiving access-
sions until there is now a vast accumu-
lation of statutory law governing the
use and operation of the twentieth
entury conveyance.
Starting with few restrictions less
han a decade ago, the regulation of
the automobile has steadily increased
[until it now seems that the highest
point has been reached by our law-
making bodies in the control over the
subject. It is but natural that, owing
:o the great mobility and high power
)f the automobile, considerations of
public safety should have prompted
md necessitated the passage of laws
-egulating its speed and requiring the
quipment of brakes and signal de-
ices, together with adequate means of
dentification, such as number plates,
icenses, and registration.
The enormous increase in motor
raffic has been marked by a more ex-
ensive notice from the courts. Ques-
ions concerning the rights and lia-
ilities of automobilists have con-
tantly arisen, and a solution of these
ias been frequently sought by resort
the judicial tribunals. Many of
hese suits have reached the courts of
ast resort, and in consequence the re-
>orted cases are fast becoming rich in
utomobile law. The courts have al-
eady decided many "questions of
vital importance; but, strange as it
may seem to the layman, the decisions,
almost without exception, have called
for the application of long-established
principles and rules of law — thanks to
the great adaptability of that immense
legal code, known as the common law.
Thus the frequent and numerous ques-
tions affecting the liability of owners
for the acts of chauffeurs, the status of
the public garage, the rights and liabili-
ties attaching to the keeper of a garage
and the status of the motorist as a
traveler upon the public highways
have been readily referable to the old
English common law as adopted and
followed in the United States.
The status of the automobile as a
means of locomotion on the public
highways has been held by all the
courts before which the question has
arisen to be the same as that of any
other mode of transportation and
travel. Priority of use of the highway
by one means of transportation can-
not be exclusive of later and im-
proved methods of transportation even
though inconvenience may result to
the earlier modes of travel. The reason
is obvious. Inasmuch as the highway
is established for the general benefit of
passage and travel, its use must be ex-
tended to meet the modern means and
improved methods of locomotion, the
means of which, it cannot be assumed,
will be the same from age to age with
the growth of civilization.
But perhaps the most striking point
of special application to the motor
vehicle and its operation yet announced
by the courts is that the automobile is
not necessarily and inherently a dan-
gerous machine. In the language of
one court : "It is no more dangerous
49
50
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
George L. Eu.s worth
per se than a team of horses and a
carriage, or a gun, or a sail-boat, or
a motor-launch." It is not, therefore,
to be classed with combustibles, ex-
plosives, inflammable substances, vici-
ous animals, and the like.
This judicial announcement should
be of much interest and significance to
the layman, inasmuch as it tends to
correct the common but mistaken
view that the automobile is a machine
the operation of which upon the public
streets and highways is necessaril)
dangerous. The soundness of this
judicial view must be admitted wher'
the expedition and facility with which'
the motor carriage may be stopped!
controlled and guided, together witl
its unlimited sphere of action, are conj
sidered. Obviously it is the persona;
element in motoring rather than thjj
nature of the machine which tends t<
make motoring hazardous.
This decision also means much t<|
THE AUTOMOBILE AND THE LAW
51
the automobilist. It justly removes
him from the application of the ex-
treme doctrine rendering a master re-
sponsible for the unauthorized acts of
his servant to whose management the
custody and control of a dangerous
appliance or agency is entrusted.
Although the automobile has been
in use on our highways for scarcely
more than a decade, certain tendencies
in legislation can be seen out of the
great mass of statutory law that has
accumulated. There is the movement
to have enacted uniform laws in the
various states as evidenced by the joint
request of the Governors of the New
England States of less than two years
ago to have adopted a uniform motor
vehicle law in these states.
While exactly uniform motor vehicle
laws among the several states seems
impossible owing to the variety of con-
ditions obtaining in the different juris-
dictions, much can be accomplished in
this direction to facilitate interstate
motoring and commercial travel. This
suggests the much-mooted question of
Federal control over interstate motor-
ing, which promises to reach solution
in the near future. There is no doubt
that much of the difficulty now result-
ing from the widely differing state pro-
visions concerning registration would
be remedied by the enactment of a
Federal registration law.
Another tendency manifested by re-
cent state legislation is the abolition
of arbitrary speed limits for motor
j vehicles. When the public recognize
(the fact already adjudicated by the
courts that the automobile is not neces-
sarily dangerous and that danger in
most cases to which the public safety
may be exposed arises from the per-
sonal part played in motoring, the
necessity for absolutely fixed limits on
speed will disappear. The primary
object of speed regulation is to render
the highways safe to the traveling
public by the prevention of dangerous
driving. The test of dangerous opera-
tion should not be confined to the rate
of speed, since even a very low rate of
speed maintained by a careless or un-
experienced driver might be hazardous.
The determining test should be the
surrounding circumstances of the case,
including the condition, use and
character of the highway and the
traffic actually at the time, or which
the operator might reasonably expect
to be on the highway. Such a rule or
standard is both logical and consistent
with the spirit of our laws in general,
since it imposes the duty upon the
motorist to act at all times as a reason-
able person.
While at first there was unfortu-
nately a manifest tendency on the part
of the courts to reflect the transient
public sentiment against the motorist,
there seems now to be a growing dis-
position on the part of the courts to
reflect rather the calmer public judg-
ment uninfluenced by any local or tem-
porary agitation in the community re-
sulting from some accident. The ten-
dency is to place the automobilist on a
plane of equality with other users of
the highway.
The spirit of equality and fairness
may be fostered in the future by a
larger measure of co-operation between
the motorist and the state in the solu-
tion of all those problems which
might affect the manufacture, con-
struction, and use of the motor vehicle.
In this way we expect those wise and
sensible laws which will secure the
greatest benefit to all the public, and
leave untrammeled the expanding field
and influence of the horseless carriage
as one of the great civilizing agencies
of the twentieth century.
The Car of To-Day
By W. MASON TURNER
"V X THEN we look back ten or
\f \/ eleven years, the time when
T T automobiles were called
"horseless carriages," and compare that
product to the cars of to-day, what
do we find? We find that the average
motor car now on the market is almost
as far advanced over its early prede-
cessor as the crude type of machine
was in advance of the horse-drawn ve-
hicle. In those days we sold automo-
biles by comparing them to horses — in
many instances the purchasers were
often compelled to send for a horse and
drag the machine home. It is a rare
sight nowadays to see a car hung up
on the wayside except it be for tire
troubles, and we find very little of that
to contend with in modern motor cars.
As an illustration I will refer to a
trip I made last summer from Boston
to Lake Sunapee, N. H., and return, the
same day, a distance of some two hun-
dred and fifty miles. I took with me
six passengers and brought back three.
The only extra tire equipment were
two spare inner tubes. Fortunately, I
had no occasion to use them, as I dis-
covered that I had forgotten the keys
to my tool box, which contained the
tire-pump and jack; but it only goes to
show how we have improved in this
important detail and have also elim-
inated the many mechanical annoy-
ances.
In the early spring of 1900 a great
road race was talked of and finally held
on Long Island, N. Y. ; the distance,
which at that time seemed almost im-
possible to be made without a break-
down, was for only fifty miles. The best
time made was in the neighborhood of
two and a half hours, and very few of
the starters finished this race. To-day
we see racing cars clipping off fifty
miles in less than fifty minutes, and see
52
them run almost twelve hundred miles
on a circular track in twenty-four con-
secutive hours, which shows not only a
wonderful speed average, but great en-
durance.
Many of us will recall the endurance
run held about eight years ago between
New York City and Buffalo. The writer
was the official timekeeper on this run,
and remembers many interesting de-
tials, too numerous to mention here.
The running schedule averaged only
seventy-five miles a day, with six days
in which to complete a distance of only
four hundred and fifty miles. About
fifty cars started from New York and
only seventeen finished the run. In the re-
cent Glidden tour the course was nearly
three thousand miles, over all kinds of
roads and through fields where roads
had not been laid out. The time set
for this run was three weeks. Almost
every car, regardless of price or horse-
power, finished with a splendid average
to its credit. We have seen this busi-
ness spring up and make great strides.
Various motive powers have been thor-
oughly tried out, including electric,
steam, compressed air and gasoline,
each branch using different systems.
The last one — gasoline — is now most
generally adopted, although some of
the others have value in their particu-
lar phase of the business. The most in-
teresting, however, is by far the gaso-
line motor. Before speaking of motors,
however, we think it would be well to
mention here that, aside from the clever
work automobile engineers have done
to bring their motors up to the present
high standard, the cars in general have
been improved from two other sources
— one is the interest carriage builders
have taken in body building, and the
other is the ever-present public de- |
mand. The carriage builders have
THE CAR OF TO-DAY
53
W. Mason Turner
given us all the present refinement of
the business, and have helped to place
it on a more rational basis. Many of
the old-established carriage concerns
are now just as prominent in building
touring cars, limousines and special
bodies. When a customer wants some-
thing out of the ordinary we do not, as
a rule, call upon our factory for this
work. We all know special work from
the factory is exceedingly expensive,
but we do call up the carriage builder
and furnish him with chassis speci-
fications, and let him proceed to design
and make suggestions and finally build
and mount the body. They have done
much to keep up the standard of cars
by refinishing them and making them
look almost like new; and in speaking
of our present-day car we must not
lose sight of the old-established car-
riage builder. The public has, in many
instances, been used in a way to experi-
ment on. The early demand for cars
54
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
was so great, however, that factories
turned out cars to supply the demand,
and did not have the time to build and
perfect what they had started on. Con-
sequently, the public, to their sorrow
in many cases, offered numerous sug-
gestions which they had learned
through their own experience would be
an improvement on the car which they
were using. The wise manufacturer
and the most successful have been
those who have tried to satisfy their
customers. For instance, the public de-
manded a quiet-running car. You will
recall the early cars of 1900, especially
the chain-driven foreign cars, and the
noise they would make. The quiet car
in those days was an exception — now
conditions are reversed. The public
demanded a shaft-driven car, and we
find cars of this type well in the ma-
jority, regardless of the mechanical
merits of either type, chain or shaft
driven. It is not the intention of the
writer to state his views ; however, we
do know that the shaft-driven car is
more popular and that the foreigners
are now building them; which signi-
fies, in a way, that it is not impossible
or impractical to make them as strong
and flexible as those which were driven
by the single and double chains. The
strongest argument in favor of the pro-
peller shaft seems to be that this sys-
tem is used in ocean liners, and it is
simply a question of getting enough of
the right material in the right place,
properly assembled.
To go back to the subject of motors.
As we have said before, the most in-
teresting type is the gasoline motor.
We have been using them for many
years in stationary and marine work —
that type of motor was not at first ap-
plicable to a motor where flexibility
of power and speed were necessary;
consequently, the marine engine was
temporarily laid aside and the four-
cycle engine was adopted ; first, in the
form of a single cylinder, air-cooled.
Cars using this style of motor were
not smooth-running, as they would al-
most snap your head off and fairly lift
off the ground when first starting
away. Then some bright engineer
produced a motor with two such cyl-
inders and tried cooling them with
water instead of air. The double cyl-
inder seemed to be the right solution
and we were given two types to choose
from — those of the horizontal opposed
cylinders and those whose cylinders
were vertical and known as the upright
type. It was not long, however, be-
fore three-cylinder motor cars became
prominent, only to be quickly dis-
carded for those with four cylinders;
to-day this type is in the majority.
However, there are a number of firms
producing six-cylinder motor cars and
with very strong-talking points in their
favor. For those who enjoy reading
about automobile motors, but do not
care for technical articles, perhaps I
can briefly enlighten you on a few
points of interest in regard to gaso-
line engines.
First of all, let me state that we are
talking now about four-cycle engines
only, and do you know what four-
cycle means? Not four cylinders, as
many would naturally suppose, because
a single-cylinder engine can be made
of the four-cycle type. It means this :
At every fourth stroke of the piston
traveling up and down in the cylinder,
one explosion takes place. The four
strokes are called : suction, or the first
downward stroke; compression, the
first upward stroke ; explosion, the sec-
ond downward stroke, and exhaust, the
second upward stroke. Therefore, after
the piston has made the suction, com-
pression, explosion and exhaust strokes,
the shaft and fly wheel have made two
complete revolutions, but only one ex-
plosion has taken place during the four
strokes. Now you know the meaning
of four-cycle.
Now, then, you may ask how is the
£as led into the cylinder and again ex-
hausted at the proper time? The an-
swer is : By the use of valves. These
are operated by springs and push rods,
which in turn are forced up by cams
on a cam shaft and forced back again
to their seat by a heavy spring. The
cam shaft has to be driven by gears off
the main shaft and runs just one-half
the speed of the main shaft. There is
THE FUTURE OF THE AUTOMOBILE
55
one inlet and one exhaust valve on each
cylinder. In the early days the inlet
valves were operated automatically by
the suction of the piston traveling-
downward in the cylinder and closed
automatically by a spring and also by
the compression in the cylinder; Iioav-
ever, the exhaust valve has always been
mechanically operated. In the present
four-cycle motors we find both the in-
let and the exhaust valves mechani-
cally operated. Some types of gasoline
motors place the inlet and exhaust
valves on opposite sides of the cylinder
— others place them all on one side.
This necessitates using a smaller valve
in order to get them both on, side by
side, though one cam shaft with tim-
ing gear is eliminated. Then, again, we
see the valves in the head of the motor.
This type was designed to give more
firing power directly over the piston
head and do away with the firing cham-
bers on the side. A greater compres-
sion can be obtained, of course, but it
is necessary to have exposed rocker
arms over the cylinder heads. Some
difficulty, however, was experienced in
keeping the valves sufficiently cooled to
prevent warping. It seems that every
possible means to improve the four-
cycle motor has been tried. Starting
in with the single cylinder, then the
double cylinder, both opposed and up-
right types; next came the three-cylin-
der, followed closely by the four, and
now many six-cylinder motors are in
use, and even those with eight cylin-
ders are being tried. Valves have been
placed on the opposite sides of the cylin-
ders, on one side alone and in the heads
of the cylinders, all such methods re-
sorted to to obtain flexibility of power,
which means a smooth, quiet-running
motor. However, we are living in the
age of rapid investigation, not only in
this line, but in all feasible lines —
schools, colleges and Universities are
better equipped to-day with valuable
appliances for further research than
ever before. The perfecting of electric
ignition generators has made it possi-
ble for us to advance as we have in
motor building, and now we find our-
selves abreast with the demand for a
gasoline motor which must be flexible,
but at the same time free from com-
plications.
Perhaps -in another article, at some
future time, the writer may have the
privilege of talking with you again
about motors of the two-cycle instead
of the four-cycle type, which subject is
most interesting and very simple, so
that any one may grasp the principle
very quickly. Like all great inventions
of to-day, the most wonderful are in
reality the simplest.
The Future of the Automobile
By J. H. MACALMAN
President Boston Automobile Dealers' Association
X X THAT is the future of the auto-
| 1/1/ mobile?
T ▼ That question has been
isked by thousands in recent years.
Men who own cars, prospective
owners, and others who never will
lave a car have seen the industry
blossom from nothing into one of the
world's greatest industries and they
ire interested to know what the future
vill bring forth. This is but natural
when one recalls the bicycle industry,
that for a number of years flourished,
but eventually declined rapidly, and
so with that in mind people wonder
if it will be a similar story with the
automobile. That has been the proph-
ecy of many who saw in the motor
car a fad for the man with lots of
money. These prophets, however, did
not and would not take into considera-
tion the vital distinction that divided
56
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
J. H. Ma.cAi.man
!
the two industries, the underlying
principles, namely, that the owner of
the bicycle had to apply his own motor
power while with the automobile the
power was supplied and therein was
useful for more purposes than that of
mere pleasure.
To look into the future and predict
the outcome one must necessarily be-
come retrospective first. Glancing
back over the few years, less than a
decade and therefore within the mem-
ory of everyone who has reached man's
estate, that covers the history of the
automobile industry in this country i1
reveals a marvel of progressiveness
unequaled the world over elsewhere
When the present century began there]
was little thought of what the nexl
few years had in store for America
The motor factories in this country at
that time could be counted on the fin-!
gers. Automobiles were so novel tha1|
they attracted attention wherever the}
went and the owners were looked upor
sometimes with as much curiosity as
their machines.
It certainly is a far cry from half a
THE FUTURE OF THE AUTOMOIUFK
dozen makes representing a total out-
put of a few hundred to two hundred
and ninety firms that will put on the
market for 1910 something more than
300,000 automobiles. Recent figures
show that 145 cities in 24 states are
now benefiting from the introduction
of the motor cars, for the production of
cars alone will reach nearly $500,000,-
looo for the year. Added to this are
l|the many factories in which accessories
jare made. Also the garages by the
([thousand, while the changes necessi-
tated in real estate would easily show
total of $1,000,000,000 invested in
his one industry. Thousands of
skilled workmen are employed the
ear round, making excellent citizens
3f them, for they get good wages.
The advent of different makes each
ear brought about the needed com-
)etition to produce the present car with
|ill its refinements. Makers saw that
>ven though the country could absorb
11 the machines for some years to
ome, that it was imperative that some-
hing more than a motor on four
yheels with any old kind of body was
leeded to build up the business. Ex-
>erts were secured. Men were sent
broad to study developments there.
Carriage makers were forced to take
ognizance of the new industry and
uild suitable bodies, so that gradually
he users of the cars found that they
ere getting something better each
ear and they continued to buy them.
[11 this brought about the splendid
suits we see to-day. The best evi-
ence of the stability of the industry
as proven in 1907, when we had the
nancial troubles, for no other industry
ft feathered it so well and came back
) quickly as did the motor industry,
hat is the story of the past and the
!« resent.
ryi Now we may glance at the future. No
1 Si idustry founded upon such a basis is
tl ping to crumble, for there is too much
tii stake. Looking ahead one may see
if ie motor car much the same as it is at
tji 'esent. The gasoline motor has been
'rfected so that it does more than is
hall <ked of it by any except the owner who
:pects it to leap chasms and do the un-
believable. There will be further refine-
ments, to be sure, but not in the nature
of any radical changes. The motors
may become somewhat smaller and yet
develop the same power, for compact-
ness from which may be derived lighter
machines is what the designers are
aiming at. Economy, too, is getting
its share of consideration. So that
from the mechanical point of view the
future car will embody lightness,
power and a longer mileage per gallon
of gasoline.
The styles may vary, but not to any
great extent. That will depend upon
the motorists, for if they insist on cer-
tain types of bodies the makers will
turn them out. But the standard
promises to be a light car that will
carry four passengers. The heavy
machines will always be in demand.
So will the runabouts. Gradually there
will be a demand for the closed car
and the future will see the ordinary
motorist with a car that combines two
bodies, interchangeable quickly, for all
sorts of weather so that it may be in
use the year round.
Any consideration of the future of
the automobile would not be complete
without reference to the commercial
field. Compared to the manufacture
of the pleasure car, the commercial
vehicle has been given less attention
than it deserved, but the future of the
latter is very bright. Where one
truck or delivery wagon was seen a
year ago there are now a dozen, and
the ratio is bound to increase even to
a greater extent. Nation, state, city,
and town finds the motor vehicle more
economical than the horse-drawn one,
and now we have mail wagons, ambu-
lances, fire wagons, etc., in many
places propelled by motors. They
cover a greater area in quicker time
than was formerly done, and as this is
an age when the value of time is of
greater importance than ever the neces-
sity of the motor wagon is making itself
felt.
Business men are now taking cog-
nizance of this and they are rapidly
falling in line with the progressiveness
of the age. In every large city all
58
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
sorts of merchandise is being hauled
by the motor truck. Weather has no
effect upon them and business is ex-
pedited. This does not mean the ex-
tinction of the h6rse, for there is room
for both. Where the volume of busi-
ness is increasing rapidly the firm that
can deliver larger quantities in quick
time is certain to find its orders in-
creasing faster than the firm that is
satisfied to plod along in the old way.
Correlated with the motor car of the
future will be the aeroplane. Some
people are inclined to think that the
perfection of the aeroplane will cause
a decrease in the popularity of the
motor car, but time will prove this
erroneous. Within a few months I
have advertised an aeroplane and of
the many answers received requesting
information about it the majority came
from owners of motor cars. Inter-
viewing them brought out the fact that
they would like to own flying machines |
and at the same time continue operat- |
ing their motor cars. Weather con-
ditions may have some effect on the
use of the planes when they could not
affect the motor car, and therefore the \\
owner of both would have something j|
to use regardless of whatever turned \i
up. Natural timidity will prevent the i
aeroplane ever becoming as popular as i
the motor car, and for that reason there j
will be room for both. Prices for both |
will reach a figure that will put them 1
where the man of ordinary means will!
be able to own them, but that does not!}
mean there will be any tumbling of J
prices, for the makers must put the;
best materials into their creations and!)
pay for skilled work, so that will pre-i
vent bargain-counter prices. It is a!
future with a glorious outlook that!
means much for the welfare of the
country.
The Motor- Cycle
By LE ROY COOK,
Secretary of Federation of American M>tor- Cyclists
MOTOR-CYCLING, as a sport,
has taken a strong hold in this
country, and is becoming more
and more popular with the younger ele-
ment, especially of the motoring public.
For real, genuine enthusiasm the mo-
tor-cyclist can give 'the automobilist
cards and spades and then beat him.
There are other ways the little two-
wheelers can trim the automobiles, too;
but perhaps the less said about it the
better, for no driver cares to be re-
minded of the many times he has been
overhauled and passed on the road by
some of the "little brothers of the rich."
This recalls the story told of one
wealthy A. C. A. member. He couldn't
understand why a $250 motor-cycle
could cover ground faster than his
$5000 car, and after a most conclusive
demonstration that it could, he sput-
tered in indignation : "Confound those
road-lice, anyway," and more to the!
same effect. Even now the name brings
a smile wherever it is mentioned.
Motor-cycling as a business has
grown more slowly than the manufac
ture of automobiles. There are at pres-
ent twelve or fourteen large concerns
members of the Motor-cycle Manufac-
turers' Association, and their total out-
put this year will be close to 40,000 ma
chines. Nearly one-quarter ot this
number will be made right here in New
England by two manufacturers. Th(
balance will come mostly from Chicago
and the larger cities near there.
Track racing is rapidly assuming
great importance. Banked board track!
are being built all over the country
and promoters are planning a circui
that will bring racing into the limeligh
in the East in the summer and on th<
Pacific coast during the winter months
THE MOTOR-CYCLE
V.)
In the near future the motor-cycle is
bound to take its proper place as a util-
ity vehicle. For the delivery of light
packages the motor-cycle tri-car can-
not be equaled for rapidity, economy
and general satisfaction. It is so sim-
ple that any boy can run it, and his
wages need be only half what a chauf-
feur can command. Maintenance costs
are low, and one gallon of gasoline will
idrive the car fifty to sixty miles. At
present the motor-cycle is used by the
police departments of all the larger
cities, by telephone and telegraph line-
men, and quite extensively by R. F. D.
letter carriers. In Boston and in
Worcester, for instance, the traffic po-
lice are mounted on motor-cycles made
W a Brockton (Mass.) concern — the
American Motor Company. They have
:>een in use for several years, and in
their annual reports the police com-
missioners have always praised the effi-
ciency of the traffic squads and recom-
mended the purchase of more motor-
cycles for enlarging these departments.
This is true also in the other cities
where the motor-cycle has been given
a trial.
The objectionable features of the
earlier motor-cycle have been done
away with. Manufacturers have
discarded the bicycle-with-a-motor-at-
tached idea entirely, and the up-to-date
motor-cycle is quiet, clean, comfort-
able to ride and strongly built. It
is heavy enough to be substantial
(150 to 200 pounds), and is fitted
with spring suspension, large tires,
a clutch or two-speed gear, etc.,
very much as the automobile is
equipped.
Hill, lieutenant Worcester Police Department, and his motor cycle
The Brave Reward
By F. J. LOURIET
'It is not yours, O mother, to complain,
Though no more the birth of me whom once you bore
Seems still the brave reward that once it seemed of yore."
— R. Iv. S.
ALL the little town of Welden
knew that Mrs. Hooper had a
son, although the younger gen-
eration had never beheld him. For
twenty years John Hooper had fol-
lowed the sea in remote parts of the
globe and in all those years not even
his mother had seen his face. Yet
"my son" was a living presence in the
Hooper household now that it was
comprised in one person no less than
he had been when it numbered eight
members. He figured in all Mrs.
Hooper's simple business transactions,
he had determined her attitude toward
her married daughters and her sons-
in-law, and his imagined tastes and de-
sires had guided her along many a
path where no stern figure of duty
stood to point a clearer way. Five
daughters had grown up around her
and married ; some had moved away,
two had died; one still lived on in
Welden with a home, a husband, and a
little family of her own. There had
been no mystery about any of these.
Welden had known them to be its
own and as its own; — a staunch,
steady-going, country strain, born of
the hills and the green woods and fields
and never living far out of sight of
them.
But with John Hooper it had been
different. He was a precocious child,
as precocity went in Welden. When
he was seven years old he was ap-
pointed to "speak a piece" at the Bap-
tist Sunday School Picnic and he
startled his family and tickled the vil-
lage sense of humor with a recitation
on the "trials of an only son with a
60
host of sisters and all old maids," as
the refrain ran. He was fond of read-
ing and the village library supplied
him with the long procession of heroes
of The Young America and the adven-
tures of Robinson Crusoe. He read one
of the Rollo books and passed the
rest of the series' by without com-
ment. A little later he found Herman
Melville's Omoo and Typee; Gulliver's
Travels, which had, innocently enough,
fallen into the same classification; and
Thomes's Gold Hunters and Life in the
Bast Indies; and from all these books
the airs of strange seas and foreign
lands blew upon him and kindled a
ready imagination.
When he was sixteen he went on a
visit to Boston. His uncle and his
staid, self-contained cousins — Phillip-
ses and his mother's stock — interested
him little. He used their gravely hos-
pitable home at his convenience, but
all day long he roamed the city's busy
waterfront ; he went through the Char-
lestown navy yard ; he slipped aboard
many a dingy tramp steamer and
splendid full-rigged ship and peered
into more than one forbidden corner
ere he was discovered and ordered off.!
Before he left the city he had held 1
converse with a few loitering Jack;
Tars and had even put certain momen-
tous questions to a good-natured sec-
ond officer and had been answered.
So when his fortnight was up and he
went back to Welden it was with
his resolution made, his career chosen.
It took a year and a half of unyield-
ing obstinacy to bring his father and
mother to his point of view. Argu-
THE BRAVE REWARD
01
ment proved useless on either side, but,
where something must obviously be
done, John pursued a triumphant
course of passive resistance. He re-
fused to go to school; he effectively
shirked every labor that was imposed
on him; he turned a deaf ear to all
persuasions of local industries or emolu-
ments; and he finally and completely
exhausted the library's stock of trav-
els and adventure. His mother was the
first to yield, her own sequestered
spirit of romance answering to the
boy's desperate longing. The issue
once decided, she made ready his out-
fit and packed his trunk with her own
hands, and though the carefully folded
garments were spotted with her tears,
all the while she felt the little unaccus-
tomed heart-stabs of quickened fancy
and ambitions as vague and bright and
groundless as his own. When they
said bood-bye at the railway station
John's father was the first to turn
away. It was the mother who slipped
into the boy's hand an extra twenty-
five dollars, the fruit of quiet self-de-
nial, and watched him board the train
Jwith all the hopes and prayers that
could not, in these last moments, find
utterance, shining in her eyes.
Thus the voice of the deep had called
John Hooper and he had obeyed it.
In the middle bureau drawer in Mrs.
Hooper's room lay the packets of his
letters, a goodly number in all these
years, with their strange, foreign
stamps and postmarks— Buenos Ayres,
Yokohama, Manila, Bombay, Singa-
pore, Batavia, Sydney, Papeete. The
earlier ones were fat and bulky, many
sheets covered with bold, plain, boyish
script and full of the delighted vision
of wondrous scenes. The envelopes
were worn and frayed with much
handling. Perhaps the neighbors
could estimate how many times those
descriptive passages had been read
aloud, but they had no clue to the
number of silent perusals that had
fixed their lines indelibly in Mrs.
Hooper's mind, so that there were days
when the woman went about her aus-
tere New England life in a glow of
of tropic sunshine, breathing strange
perfumes and looking inward on
bright, unfamiliar pictures. There
was one envelope more strained and
spotted than the rest. The letter with-
in told of his first command, the cap-
taincy of the little South Sea trading
schooner that seemed to mean so much
to John Hooper's ambitions, and on
the last page was the postscript that
acknowledged the news of his father's
death.
"I suppose you think I would be
more use to you now if I had been a
farmer instead of a sailor," he wrote.
"As it is, I am just on my feet to make
something; at last I can help you a
little now, when you need it, and after
a few years of this I shall be where
I can afford to think of a change, and
coming home, and taking things a bit
easier."
If help would sometimes have been
welcome, the fact was never men-
tioned in Mrs. Hooper's letters and
John sent no money then or in the
six years that followed. Nor was there
urgent need of any. Weddings, funer-
als, and grandchildren coming into
the world laid their tax at one time and
another on the modest estate, but with
the dwindling of the home family the
every-day expenses had diminished in
proportion, and with careful manage-
ment and frugal living the rental of
the two brick stores in town and the
income from the few acres of farming
land had sufficed for all purposes.
More than for money Mrs. Hooper had
wished for an occasional gift that
should be representative of the strange
lands in which her son was so much
at home. It might be valueless in it-
self so that it offered tangible evidence
of countries and peoples undreamed of
in Welden. Abby Hunter's sister Rose,
who lived in Florida, had sent her a
beautiful collection of dried and
pressed sea mosses. Mrs. Colton's
daughter, who had married a rich New-
York lawyer, had brought her mother
from Europe a dress pattern of black
silk of a weight and luster that had
dazed the Welden dressmakers. Back
to the years of her childhood Mrs.
Hooper dimly remembered the legends
G2
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
of an aunt in New Bedford whose hus-
band was a sea captain. From every
voyage he had brought home some
treasure — a real India shawl, a parrot,
a wonderfully carved box of sandal-
wood. Others than Mrs. Hooper
noticed this omission. Sophia Peck
said boldly to her one day, after listen-
ing to a description of some South Sea
curiosities :
"It's funny John never sends you
any souvenirs of his travels. I should
think there'd be lots of trinkets he
could pick up, sailing around the way
he does."
"John knows I never cared much for
trinkets," answered his mother with
loyal falsehood. "Besides, I don't sup-
pose it's very safe sending bundles all
the way from where he is. 'Tisn't as
if he was just across the Atlantic."
But the spoken words left a sting
that was hard to be borne. A delicate
pride had kept her, in the past, from
suggesting any wish of her own. A
stronger pride impelled her now to
break this reticence. The hint was con-
veyed timidly, but in terms of unmis-
takable desire, and six months later the
Pacific mail brought her a small box
bearing the imprint of a firm of Lon-
don and Sydney jewelers. It contained
a handsome brooch of Australian opal
set in Australian gold. Carping ton-
gues were silenced and if, in her own
heart, Mrs. Hooper would have per-
ferred some more barbaric ornament,
a specimen of primitive craftsmanship,
the ungrateful thought was buried
without speech.
One day a rumor stole out from the
local telegraph office and ran quickly
through the village street, kindling
speculation and discussion as it passed.
When it reached the ears of Miss Peck
she waited for no idle conjectures, but
put on her hat and started for the rail-
way station. It was an hour when no
train was due and the place was al-
most deserted. She looked in at the
office door and saw Mike Flannagan,
the operator, sitting on the station
agent's high stool and catching flies
with a dexterity bred of long practice.
"Mike, what's this I hear?" she
asked. "Is it true you've had a cable-
gram for Mrs. Hooper?"
"That's right," affirmed Mike cheer-
fully. "All the way from Sydney,
Australia. Cable to New York, tele-
graph from New York to Welden. We
don't get many of them around here !"
"No, I guess you don't," asserted
Miss Peck. "What did it say?"
Mike pushed his straw hat a little
further back on his head and eyed her
quizzically.
"See here, Miss Peck," he said at
length. "You ask Mrs. Hooper that
question. She'll tell you quick enough. ! J
Then I won't get meself into trouble
for telling what I've no business to." ;!
"Seems to me you're terribly afraid, j|
all at once," observed Miss Peck, with
scepticism.
Mike smiled at her ingratiatingly.
"I'm not afraid you'd do anything to
make me harm," he said. "But there's
others in this town wouldn't mind step-
ping into my job and I'm pretty well
suited with it meself. So I'm on the
safe side if I mind the rules. See? —
It's no bad news !" he called after her
as Miss Peck withdrew from the door.
The station agent looked over from
the operator's chair by the window
where he sat fanning himself. "What's
struck you?" he asked.
Mike swung around to face him.
"Don't you suppose she'd like to be
the first to tell that news herself?" he
demanded. "I wouldn't take that
pleasure away from the old ladv for a
farm."^
Straight to her friend's house went
Sophia Peck and, without stopping to
knock, opened the door and walked in.
It must have been three hours since the
message had been delivered but Mrs.
Hooper sat by the window, a slip of
yellow paper in her lap and wiping her
glasses as if for its first perusal. There
was no need for questions. At the
sight of Miss Peck she laid down her
glasses and lifted the paper with a little
flutter.
"My John is coming home !" she
said.
That was all the data Welden had
for its gossip during the following
1
THE BRAVE REWARD
63
month. It was all that Mrs. Hooper
herself knew. The cable message had
stated only that he should sail from
Sydney the next day and was coming
straight home. Welden puzzled over
the news and guessed blindly at the
lacking details. Mrs. Hooper was
neither surprised nor, outwardly, im-
patient. She had always expected that
her son would come home some day
to her, she had waited long and now
he was coming she could wait the few
remaining days in calmness.
Mike Flannagan dropped in to see
her one evening, his pockets stuffed
with steamship and railway timetables.
He showed her that John must have
taken the Vancouver steamer, figured
the earliest possible moment that he
could arrive, pointed out the various
possibilities of delay and gave her a
local folder on which he had checked
the train most likely, in his estimation,
to bring the wanderer home.
''You don't remember my John, do
you?" asked Mrs. Hooper, as he was
leaving. "No, of course you don't !" she
added, laughingly. "You was only a
baby then. I remember going in to see
your mother the day after he went
away. It seemed as if she had a house-
ful of babies and you was the youngest
Df them all. I've never seen John since
and here you are, telegraph operator."
She laid a hand kindly on his shoulder.
'You've been a good boy to your
nother, Mike," she said. "And now my
boy is coming home to be a comfort
:o me in my old age."
A week before the earliest date noted
Dii her folder Mrs. Hooper began
watching from her trellised doorway as
:he daily Accommodation from Mon-
real drew in to the station. Across
two empty fields she could see the
smoke of the locomotive rising from
:he hollow where the station lay and
ler eyes would travel from this to the
:orner where John must leave Depot
street and turn into the quiet, shady
oad that passed her door. So she stood
)n the seventh day, gazing intently
iown the street, when a man sprang
)ver the low paling directly opposite
md crossed the road. He was a tall,
well-built figure of a man, full bearded
and of a ruddy complexion. She
looked at him for a moment, half
startled, as he approached her — then
with a little cry she ran down the
steps.
"My boy!"
"Mother!" said John Hooper, and
folded her in his arms.
"You remembered the old path!"
she said wonderingly as they mounted
the steps, his arm still around her.
"Of course I remembered the old
path!" he cried. "I remember every-
thing. There never used to be any
fence there. Did you suppose I'd for-
gotten how all the old things looked?"
In the shelter of the porch he placed
both hands on her shoulders and held
her away from him. He looked at the
slight frame with its drooping shoul-
ders, the worn hair streaked with gray,
the flushed cheeks and the fine wrin-
kles on the delicate skin, the eyes so
moist and bright and his own blurred.
Memory rose up and smote him. He
pulled her to him and hid her face
against his shoulders and kissed the
gray hair tenderly.
"Never mind, Mother. Home at
last !" he said with a choking in his
throat.
Inside the house he sat down op-
posite her, his hands on her knees.
"What do you suppose it was that
did the business ?" he asked her. "What
was it that made me as homesick as a
goat, so I threw up my berth without a
day's notice and went out and bought a
ticket for the first steamer home?
Guess, now !"
"Why, John, I haven't the faintest
idea !" said his mother blankly.
He laughed. "Well, you're the guilty
party. And this is just what did it.
See here!"
He took some papers from his pocket
and sorted out a letter. She recognized
her own handwriting. He spread it
open before her and she saw it was
the last one she had written, under date
of May fourteenth. "Here," he said,
"read this!"
She read her own words : "The
Spring is beautiful now with new grass
(54
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
and apple, peach, cherry and pear
trees in full bloom. The air is loaded
with fragrance. I am growing some
lettuce under glass and from the South
we are getting our first supply of
strawberries ' and asparagus. Dande-
lions are plenty in the meadows."
She looked up in dismay. "But,
John !" she cried, "that was in May.
Strawberries and asparagus are all
gone by long ago.
John's face fell. "By Jove, that's so.
Dandelion greens, too, I suppose? And
I've been thinking all the way home
how good they were going to taste."
"I never imagined you'd think of
dandelion greens," said Mrs. Hooper,
"after all the wonderful things you've
had to eat — pineapples and breadfruit
and cocoanuts off the trees — "
"Cocoanuts !" roared John. "Mother
if you ever name cocoanuts to me
there's going to be trouble! I never
want to hear, see, or smell cocoanuts
again as long as I live. You don't
understand that, do you?" he added,
seeing the look of perplexity on her
face. "Well, I don't know myself what
it is about the stuff we get there. It's
not like fruit and nuts at home. For
one thing, it's all the same the year
round, year after year, and you get
horribly sick of it, but you have to
keep on eating it because you can't
get anything else."
"Do you have green corn down
there?" she asked, almost timidly.
"What! Is green corn ripe? O, I
say! I'm glad I missed the straw-
berries! What else is there? Tell me,
Mother. I've clean forgotten my farm-
ing, that's a fact !"
He took a boyish delight in every
item of the possible menus unfolded to
him and his mother's spirits rose as she
saw opportunities multiply for giving
him pleasure.
His boxes came from the station,
great, yellow camphor- wood chests, and
were taken up to his chamber. He
threw open the blinds and let in the
flood of warm, afternoon sunshine. The
room was spotlessly clean and bright,
the old-fashioned feather bed standing
high under its snowy counterpane and
ruffled pillow shams. The bowl and'
pitcher of blue and white ware were|
the same he had used as a boy. The
wall paper was modern, but the old
steel engraving of Washington Cross-
ing the Delaware and the lithograph of
Napoleon at St. Helena still hung in
their respective places. At the head
of the bed stood a small table on which
were a night lamp and a Bible.
While Mrs. Hooper busied herself in
the kitchen, John wandered through the
house, finding now and then, among
much that was old and familiar, the
modern touch that told of renewal and
repair. He sauntered out into the
piazza and around the house tc
the garden. There were rows oi
larkspur and sweet peas and beds
Of petunias and mignonette, with a
background of string beans and toma-i
toes and lettuce, no longer under glass j
He looked in at the kitchen door andj
was driven away by his mother, whc
threatened him with floury fingers, in
a glow of happy excitement. He found
the last number of the Weekly Courier
and sat on the side steps reading il
while the sun declined in the west as
the big maple at the rearward cornel
of the house sent a lengthening shadow
athwart him.
When his mother came to call hiir
to supper he seemed already to hav(
lost something of his first brusquenes*
and to be more in accord with th<
pleasant quietness of the place. T<
the restless sea-farer the impression'
of peaceful home life culminated fit
tingly in the table set between two lon£
windows, with the low, western sui
shining full on its white napery an(
china, and the delicate fragrance
home-made bread and fresh butter an(
cream hovering over it. At one en(
of the table stood a large, old-fashione(
chair with rounded back and arms an(
cushioned seat. Mrs. Hooper paused
her hand resting on its back.
"This is your place now, John," sh
said.
It was the first allusion to his father
She had tried to speak naturally but he
chin quivered. John was at her sid>
and suddenly her composure broke an<
THE BRAVE REWARD
65
the tears streamed down her face. "It
has been lonesome," she said, and
clung to his shoulder and wept for a
moment. Then she lifted her head and
wiped her eyes. "I mustn't spoil your
supper," she said, struggling to smile
at him, "now I've got you back. I
cooked a little extra because I thought
you'd be hungry after your journey."
»They sat down and the gladness came
back to her eyes under John's praises
of her supper. There were cold veal
loaf and currant jelly and hot creamed
potatoes and green peas and ripe
sliced tomatoes and delicious bread
and butter and sugar cookies and a
custard pie.
Wait a minute, John," said his
mother as he stretched out a hand to-
wards the pie. "There's something else
erhaps you'd better see first."
She disappeared into the kitchen and
resently returned bearing a plate
whereon rose a feathery mountain of
lot, flaky, white shortcake, all stained
nd ripping with the rosy juice of
rushed raspberries and topped by a
nowy mound of whipped cream. She
Iet it down before him.
"That's the nearest I could come to
trawberry shortcake," she said, apolo-
etically.
j John drew a deep breath. "Mother,
've been the biggest kind of a fool all
ese years," he said.
They were still at the table when
11a walked in, John's sister, who had
arried George Bascom. She was a
ender woman of about thirty-five, in
'horn her mother's delicate vigor was
Dnsiderably attenuated. There were
eevish lines around the thin nostrils
id the corners of the mouth showed
tendency to droop.
"I suppose you're brother John," she
id, advancing to him with evident
rvous embarrassment.
He kissed her with hearty assurance.
rs. Hooper drew a chair up to the
ble and insisted on giving her a piece
shortcake.
: Tve just finished my supper," Ella
lotested. "I left George putting the
(ildren to bed and I've got to hurry
lick and wash the dishes. I'd given
up expecting we ever should see you
again," she added to John.
They asked and answered questions,
talking in the desultory manner of
people who have nothing in common,
but are bound to keep up an appearance
of mental interest.
John pushed his chair away from the
table, tilted it back at a comfortable
angle, and drew a pipe and tobacco
pouch from his pocket. The two
women watched him, aghast, as he
filled the pipe, stowed away the pouch,
and drew forth a box of matches.
His mother gave a little gasp. "You
don't mean that you've taken to smok-
ing, John !" she cried.
He looked up in the act of striking
a match and held it suspended in blank
amazement. "Taken to smoking!" he
repeated. Then he threw his head
back and laughed immoderately.
"That's right !" he said. "Father never
did smoke, did he? I've forgotten.
Why, yes, Mother dear, I took to smok-
ing just about twenty years ago and
I've smoked like a chimney ever since.
Father never knew what he missed!"
He lighted his pipe and turned to his
sister, puffing gently. As he caught the
expression on her face he paused. "Hey !
Don't George smoke, either?" he asked.
"I wouldn't go so far as to say
George never smokes," answered Mrs.
Bascom stiffly. "He may buy a cigar
occasionally when he's out with other
men. He certainly never smokes in the
house in my presence."
"Oh-h !" said John. He took another
puff in sheer abstraction. As the thin
cloud drifted across the table his
mother coughed mildly, behind her
hand. He leaned forward and laid the
pipe down upon his plate. "All off!"
he said, trying to speak cheerfully, but
he was heard to sigh as he settled back
in his chair.
There was a minute of awkward
silence, then Mrs. Hooper rose. "I
must clear away the things," she said.
"John, don't you and Ella want to sit
out on the porch? It's just the pleas-
antest time of day now."
"No," said Ella, "I must run home,
I'd stay and help you with the work,
66
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
Mother, only I promised little Georgie
I'd be back and hear him say his prayers
before he got to sleep. You must come
over, John, and see your nephew and
neices as soon as Mother's looked at
you long enough. You'll find George
down at the store all the time week
days. I hope you won't find life in
Welden too dull for you."
John picked up his pipe and went
out to the garden, where he paced back
and forth and smoked while his mother
washed the dishes. It was, indeed, a
pleasant hour*. The sun was down but
streaks of crimson still lingered in the
west and overhead the clouds were
tinged with faint, rosy pink. The high
horizon was embroidered with foliage
of elms and maples and their tall shapes
loomed in the twilight at once strange
and familiar, like those of some oft-
repeated dream. Instead of the salt
pungency of the sea in his nostrils
there came from the garden a cool,
earthy smell, mingled with the faint
fragrance of sweet peas and mignon-
ette. It was New England; it was
home; peaceful, pleasant, shut-in.
His mother called to him from the
porch. Inside, the shades were drawn,
the big lamp lighted.
"Now tell me about your voyage,"
she begged. "I want to hear all the
'sailor yarns' about where you've been
and what you've seen."
He began with some of the common-
places of the South Sea trader's life,
but her quest for adventure was not to
be denied. He told of copra and pearl
shell and low coral atolls and rugged,
volcanic mountains ; and then he told
of the hurricane in the Paumotus where
his vessel had so narrowly escaped be-
ing driven upon the reef, of his trouble
with the socialist sailor who shipped
from New Zealand and mutinied be-
cause he had to work with a Chinaman,
and of the exciting rescue of a mission-
ary who was attacked by the cannibal
natives in New Guinea. Some things,
of course, he kept back, but in the main
his narrative was free and open and
always it was unconsciously eloquent
of hot sun and tingling brine and
rushing trade winds.
It was late when they went upstairs
and John's light was soon out. A
minute later his mother stole softly into
the room and tucked him in with a
kiss and her blessing as she used to
do when he was a boy. Yes, it was
home!
For a few weeks John was a celebrity
in Welden. The old residents who re-
membered him as a boy dropped in
casually to hear his adventures; the
younger generation of men scraped ac-
quaintance with him wherever oppor-
tunity offered. The older women were
inclined to look askance at him, after
a few stories had gone abroad, and the
young ones, who saw little of him,
meditated the more on the varied and
piquant rumors that filtered down to
them. Two great, fluted, white shells
appeared as ornaments flanking the
Hooper front door steps. On sunny
days Mrs. Bascom's wide piazza was
carpeted with a finely woven mat of
something that looked like palm-leaf,
with a zigzag design in black and a
fringe of bright red and yellow wool.
Callers at the house saw the genuine
tortoise shell he had given his mother,
— not a piece of shell but the entire
armor of the animal. They saw, too,
the long strips of queer, papery cloth
made from the bark of a tree and col-
ored in bold squares and circles, and
triangles, which the savages of the
South Seas wore for dresses. So-
phia Peck was granted a private view
of John's dress suit, a rarity in Wel-
den, and could describe it in detail.
Mrs. Donovan, the washerwoman,
spread the report of his pongee silk
underwear, and more than one staid
matron and curious damsel found an
excuse to pass the Hooper homestead
on washing day and thereby catch a
glimpse of the outlandish night-gar-
ments, which he called pyjamas, as they;
fluttered on the line. On the secondj
day of his arrival, John had created a
sensation by strolling through the vil-i
lage attired in a white drill suit, mostj
suitable to the hot August day, butl
unusual and thereby improper in the!
eyes of the villagers. When his
mother, urged to the point by Ella, re-
1
THE BRAVE REWARD
67
monstrated with him on the score of
making people stare, he replied with a
grin, "Let 'em stare, Mother. I'm not
bashful. It'll do 'em good to have
something new to talk about," and he
continued to wear white during the hot
weather.-
The first Sunday brought about a
more serious difference. Mrs. Hooper
asked John to accompany her to church
and he flatly refused. This time she
did not accept defeat so easily. Argu-
ments of duty and conscience were so
obviously unavailing that she soon fell
back on pleading for the mere looks of
the thing and her own feelings.
"I'll go if you let me wear a white
suit," said John teasingly.
"I want you to go looking so I can
be proud to be seen with you," re-
torted his mother. "I don't want folks
to think I'm taking the miller to church.
When Susie Colton" and her husband
visited here they went to church with
Mrs. Colton and he wore a Prince
Albert coat and a stovepipe hat and
kid gloves."
"My, what a howling swell!" said
John. "But I haven't a frock coat to
my name, so that let's me out."
"Haven't you got a tall hat?" asked
Mrs. Hooper, wistfully.
"Nary a bell topper," said John.
"Of course," she hastened to add,
rft's not to show off clothes that I want
you to go. Your blue suit looks nice
enough. It's because I want you with
me and I shall feel terrible if you make
me go alone."
John yielded finally, with bad grace.
He fidgetted in the pew during the long
sermon and at the close of the service
Jrefused to go up and speak to the min-
ster and hurried his mother home with-
out stopping for chat with anyone.
"Never again, Mother. Never again !"
he said firmly. "I'd do a good deal for
| r ou, but that's asking too much."
J "I'll never ask it again," said Mrs.
ilooper, almost in tears.
Welden was not tolerant in the mat-
er of church going. Respectable
eople went to church ; those who did
ot go ranged from "queer" to down-
ight disreputable characters, and Mrs.
Hooper knew well that John's attitude
would place him before the community
in an unfavorable light.
But in this as in other matters, out-
side the house or within, John estab-
lished his own habits with small re-
gard for precedent or the "speech o'
people." After a few nights he dis-
carded the voluptuous feather bed pro-
vided for him and insisted on sleeping
upon the hard mattress. This seemed
to Mrs. Hooper no worse than a per-
verted taste, but when he fell into the
way of going to his room for an hour
or two every afternoon and lying on
top of the bed she was moved to re-
proach.
"I'm afraid you've forgotten your
early bringing up," she said sorrow-
fully.
"I've been a long time away from
home," John admitted. "Other lands,
other manners, you know."
So the ruffled pillow shams followed
the feather bed and every day after
dinner Mrs. Hooper climbed the stairs
to turn back the white counterpane and
spread a steamer rug of John's over her
patch-work quilt. "Ship shape and
comfy," as John expressed it. Here he
would lie and smoke his pipe, for he
respected his mother's wishes suffici-
ently to refrain from smoking in the
rooms below. But strong navy cut is
not to be confined by the closing of a
door and the insidious aroma perco-
lated out through cracks and keyholes
and stole downstairs, where it lingered
in the hallway and clung to the cur-
tains. Mrs. Hooper caught a whiff of
it now and then to her alarm, and then
it seemed to disappear,for she no longer
noticed it. One day John came across
some choice specimens of coral in one
of his boxes and called to his mother
to come and see them. She sat for an
hour looking and listening to new tales
of tropic seas and marine wonders be-
fore she realized that he had been smok-
ing all the time.
The very next afternoon Sophia Peck
came in. Her visits were rarer now
than of old and she was no sooner in-
side the house than her nose went into
the air, sniffing vigorously.
68
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
"Well, I must say that don't seem
natural in this house," she remarked.
"What, can you smell it down here?"
cried Mrs. Hooper.
Sophia looked at her steadily. "Do
you mean to tell me that you can't
smell it?" she demanded.
Mrs. Hooper's eyes dropped like
those of a guilty child. "No — I can't,"
she faltered. "I — I guess I must be
pretty well used to it. I don't mind
it a bit any more. But he never smokes
in the house, except in his own room."
"I never thought you'd allow smok-
ing in any room in your house, Lydia.
But I guess John's been used to a
pretty free life," commented Sophia.
Mrs. Hooper straightened up. "He's
been master of an ocean vessel for a
good many years," she said, "and I
don't expect he's been in the habit of
being dictated to much by women folks.
Sea captains have the responsibility of
too many lives on their hands for that.
And I can tell you," she went on
warmly, "it seems pretty good to me
to have a man around the house once
more to take a little responsibility.
He's finished haying down in the Strat-
ton lot and I didn't have to give it a
thought, and he got three tons more
than I did last year. And he looks after
all the rents and repairs."
"Yes," assented Sophia drily. "I
heard he told the Appleby's he'd raise
on their rent if they didn't pay up
quicker."
"So he did !" cried Mrs. Hooper.
"And to-day they're paid up in full, for
the first time in months ! They'd
worried me almost to death, dragging
behind so all the time."
Two months sped by and the cool,
October days drew on. The village
street flamed with the warm reds and
yellows of its maples, but the air
breathed of frost.
"Mother, how do we keep this house
warm in winter-time?" asked John one
morning, coming down to breakfast
with a blue nose and chattering teeth.
Mrs. Hooper looked at him in con-
cern. "You poor boy! And it hasn't
begun to be cold weather yet! Why,
we never have heated the chambers.
I'd like to have a furnace put in but I
don't know as I can afford it just now.
We can' set up a stove in your room,
or get one of those kerosene heaters."
The oil heater was installed but John
took no more siestas in his room and
spent more and more of his time, both
afternoon and evening, away from
home ! Mrs. Hooper asked no ques-
tions, but she was troubled in mind,
fearing not so much for anything he
might be doing as for unfriendly criti-
cism thereon. The voice of the outside
world, once communicated by Sophia
Peck, seldom reached her ears now. and
it was not until Ella Bascom suddenly
burst into complaint and reproaches
that her worst fears were confirmed.
"Do you know where he spends his
time, Mother?" demanded Ella passion-
ately. "Down at the hotel, playing
cards and spinning yarns and drinking
with drummers and all the riff-raff of
the town ! It's a shame ! George says
there isn't a day passes that someone
doesn't say something to him. about it,
till he's so mortified he don't want to
look anybody in the face ! And the
stories he tells ! Do you know what
he's got, that he's showed to men there
at the hotel? Fishhooks made of hu-
man bones ! Bones of men that have
been killed and eaten — and he bought
the fishhooks from the very cannibals
that did it ! Did you know he had
such things?"
"Yes," answered Mrs. Hooper with
a shudder. "He's shown them to me.
Other things, too."
"Well, wouldn't you think, now he's
got back to civilization, he'd be glad
to forget about them? But he seems
to take delight in parading his associa-
tion with savages before the whole I
town, as if it was something to be '
proud of."
"Ella, I'm surprised at you!" said,'
Mrs. Hooper sternly. "You talk like j
an ignorant child. John hasn't associ-
ated with savages any more than a mis- 1
sionary associates with them, or any i
more than George associates with Tim
Muldoon because Tim trades at his
store. And you ought to know that
there isn't a man in Welden that has
THE BRAVE REWARD
69
seen one-tenth part of the world that
John has or that knows one-tenth as
much. It would look better in you to
stand up for your brother a little, in-
stead of running him down as if he was
a stranger."
"He's worse than a stranger," re-
torted Ella. "He does things a stranger
wouldn't dare to. Down at the store
the other day he was helping George
unload some barrels of phosphate and
one dropped on his toes and he swore
at George dreadfully. George said he
never even heard of such language as
he used. And, anyway, Mother, what
right has he to loaf around like this,
living on you? • Why don't he settle
down to some work, if he's going to
stay here?"
"That," said Mrs. Hooper, "is John's
business— and mine. There's no call
for you or George Bascom or anybody
else in Welden to worry themselves on
that account. John Hooper never cost
his father or me a cent from the day
he was eighteen years old and he never
so much as set foot in his father's house
from that day till last August. You
and all the rest of the girls lived at
home till- you was a good deal past
eighteen; you had money regularly
from your father as long as he lived,
and you've had more than a little from
the estate since. George is doing well
now, I understand, and if John wants
to stay here awhile and do nothing ex-
cept take some of the burdens off my
shoulders, that's his privilege."
Bravely as she had defended the
breach, Mrs. Hooper was, nevertheless,
driven to take counsel with John him-
self. "I hate to think that you're giv-
ing 'em that much excuse to talk about
you," she concluded. "They're so ig-
norant, and they don't understand."
John swore under his breath.
"They're such a pack of tattle-tales !"
he said. "George Bascom's store is
worse than a woman's sewing circle.
Talk about the hotel ! Once in a while
there's a man with some sense down
there, but that crowd at the store is
a regular gang of tabby cats and sis-
sies and George is the worst one of
the lot. Not one of them was ever
fifty miles from Welden in his life and
they have about as much idea of the
world as an intelligent clam."
"You haven't got much saved up,
have you?" asked Mrs. Hooper irrele-
vantly."
He laughed ruefully. "No! — the
more fool I ! But Jack ashore is a
foolish chap, and the captain's not
much better. That sounds like poetry,
but it's fact."
"I've been thinking," she pursued,
"that if you wanted to go into some
kind of business here I could borrow
two or three thousand dollars from
Mr. Wellman at the bank. The Apple-
bys said they thought of giving up
the store. You understand trading and
perhaps you'd be happier if you had
something to take up your time."
"How would you borrow the
money?" he asked. "On what secur-
ity?"
"I'd have to give a mortgage on
the brick stores, I suppose. They're
mine, to do as I please with," she added
with a touch of defiance.
John fell to brooding. "I'll have to
think about that," he said. "I'll have
to think it over, Mother."
Then he came over to his mother,
and, kneeling clumsily on the floor, put
his head in her lap and his arms around
her.
"Well, my son?" she asked.
"I've got to go back, Mother," he
said. "I've been fighting it, and fighting
it, but it's no use. This town would
drive me mad. But that isn't it. The
cold weather freezes me to my marrow
and I hate it. But that's not it, either. I
took a long walk to-day, up to the top of
Stearns' hill, and looked around. Why,
I'd give two fingers off my hand, right
now, for a sight of open ocean, with a
sail overhead, and a coral reef with
the surf rolling in, and the salt in the
air, and a blue lagoon with a trader's
shanty on the beach, and some bare-
legged natives, and cocoanut trees
growing — yes, by Jove ! Mother, co-
coanuts ! and I'd eat 'em and be grate-
ful, too !" He rose and began pacing
the room. "Of course I know I
couldn't hang around here forever do-
70
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
ing nothing. Ella was right enough
about that. I'd soon go to the dogs.
But what is there for me to do? Shut
myself up in a brick store and sell rib-
bon by the yard to Minnie Freeman?
or listen to such an insufferable pack
of duffers as George Bascom has
around his place? — Oh, no !" He halted
before her. "Why, Mother, I'm not
forty years old yet. I'm a seaman by
profession and I've been captain for
six years. I'd look pretty settling
down to tend store in a Vermont vil-
lage, wouldn't I? I never figured this
thing out when I left Sydney. I just
took a notion I wanted to see the old
place and you once more and I started
off without giving it two thoughts."
He resumed his walk. "But if you re-
member how I wanted to go to sea
when I was sixteen years old, take that
and multiply it by the older I am and
the more I know and you'll have some
faint notion of how much I want to
go now."
Mrs. Hooper sat in her chair very
straight and still, her hands again
clasped in her lap, when he spoke no
more.
"You're of age, John," she said.
He came quickly up to her and
caught her hands in his.
"You helped me to go before," he
said. "You've got to say I may go
this time."
She rose with a hurried movement.
"I couldn't keep you then," she said,
"and I can't keep you now," and with-
drawing her hands from his clasp she
went out into the kitchen and shut the
door.
As they sat at the supper table, the
meal nearly over, Mrs. Hooper sud-
denly asked :
"Can you get your old ship back
again?"
"I don't know," answered John. "No,
probably not. I wish I hadn't been
such a fool and had saved up my
money. If I had five hundred pounds
I'd buy a schooner of my own and
ask no odds of anybody. But I don't
worry about that. I'll get a command,
all right. They know me pretty well,
down there."
A week later Mrs. Hooper stood on
the porch bareheaded in the frosty,
November sunshine, her hands clasped
behind her, watching an express wagon
loaded with two . great camphorwood
chests as it rattled away from before
the house. John came running up the
steps from the walk, where he had
helped in the loading.
"I'm off !" he cried, taking his mother
in his arms.
She drew back a little and brought
her hands forward. There was a
bulky envelope in one of them. "This
is for you," she said.
"What?" John took it curiously and
peered into it. It was full of green-
backs, he caught sight of one hundred
dollar denominations. "What is this,
Mother?"
"It's the mortgage." She choked a
little but recovered and went on. "I
want you to have it. I want you to
buy a ship of your own and call her the
Lydia Hooper. The sea is your life,
I know. I have dreamed of it, some-
times. Be a good man and write to
me. That's all I ask."
He held her tight and kissed her fore-
head before he could speak.
"She'll be a good ship, Mother," he
said.
He stumbled down the steps and
hurried off down the street. Mrs.
Hooper turned and felt blindly for the
door-knob. She entered the silent
house and groped her way across the
empty room to her chair by the win-
dow — a frail, bent, gray, old woman.
*£ *&
The Biography of a Trout
By JOHN W. TITCOMB
HAD you suddenly dropped down
in Vermont at the time this
story begins you would not
have believed that it was midwinter.
The proverbial January thaw was so
thorough that the ice which covered
the streams for two months had broken
up and "gone out" in a freshet. The
snow was still deep in the dense woods,
but only a few patches were to be seen
on the open hillsides.
The wife of the mayor of a small
city among the Green Mountains had
just filled a bowl with water from the
tap. In it she saw a little round thing
no larger than a small pea and of a
pale pink color, with two little dark
spots on it. She took it in the palm
of her hand and looked at it closely.
The warmth in her hand caused some-
thing in this strange little ball to move.
The two spots moved and then the
whole inside of the little ball seemed
to move. When replaced in the bowl
of water, after an hour or so, the little
ball had split open and now had a
tail. The tail wiggled and pushed the
ball around in the bottom of the bowl ;
then a shell-like covering dropped off
and there was a little fish.
Unlike larger fishes, it had a very
big sac on its stomach which was al-
most as large as the ball had been.
The lady had never seen a newly born
baby fish and did not know what to
do with it. As it had come with the
water, she put the bowl under the tap
and letting the water drip into it, it was
just what the baby fish needed. The
room was warm but the fresh water
from the tap keeps the little fellow
cool and each drop carries with it into
the bowl a bit of air. Fishes need air
just as much as boys and girls do.
The lady tried to feed the little thing,
but it did not touch the crumbs of bread
which she gave it. Most of the time
it lay very quiet, but when disturbed
it wiggled its tail and tried to swim.
It could only circle around in the bot-
tom of the bowl and even with much
more space it could not do much better
because the big sac is a clumsy load
for it to carry.
Now have you guessed that the little
ball was a fish egg and the two little
dark spots in the egg were the eyes of
a baby fish? The little fish had been
curled around the yolk in the egg and
when the shell broke open it uncurled.
First the tail stuck out of the crack
in the shell, for you must know that
it is the usual thing for fishes to come
into the world tail first, otherwise they
do not live. Our baby fish could not
back away from the shell because its
little fins were still inside of it. So
it just wiggled its tail until the crack
in the shell grew larger and then the
shell fell off.
The sac on its stomach is the yolk
of the egg and is called the umbilical
sac. Have you ever seen the yolk of
a hen's egg? Well, eggs of fishes
also have yolks, which become the
food sacs of the fishes when they
hatch. With some kinds of fishes this
yolk or bread sac contains enough
food to last from three to six weeks,
and our baby fish is one of this kind,
for it is a trout.
But we are getting ahead of our
story. Where did the egg come from?
Have you heard of fish stories? Well,
this is a true fish story.
Away back on the hills is a fine trout
stream made up of a number of little
brooks which have their start still
farther up in the hills. In the fall of
the year when the leaves of the trees
71
72
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
take on such brilliant hues the trout in
the brooks also have bright colors.
The male trout are the brighter, but
both males and females have more
vivid colors at this time than at any
other. It is at this season that the
trout gather, like children, in schools.
Those in the lakes and ponds move to
places where the water is not deep or
wild at this season but it is best not
to let them see you nor feel any jar
on the banks. Now look sharply into
the water. At first you see only the
water and the bottom of the pool.
Then something moves quickly as a
fish darts at one of its mates ; another
fish almost leaps out of the water and
you feel just a bit of a sprinkle of cool
PlCKINCx OVER EGGS IN THE HATCHERY
towards the mouth of a stream, while
those in streams gather in pools and
move up against the current of water.
Let us follow a school of trout which
has just met at the mouth of a brook.
Get down on your hands and knees
and creep softly to the bank just
where the water tumbles over a log
into the pond. The fish are not very
water on your nose ; then the two fishes
become quiet. Now that your eyes
have become used to the light in the
water, beside the two frisky trout you
see ten or twenty more. All of them j
are heading toward the place where |
the water gurgles over the log.
Each fish slowly moves its fins back |
and forth just enough to hold itself i
THE BIOGRAPHY OF A TROUT
1\\
Stacks oe egg and fry
from drifting away with the current
of water, and now and again one trout
darts after another like children at
play.
But the trout are not playing. A
Mr. Trout has sidled up to a Miss
Trout and he wants the other fellows
to keep away from his chosen mate.
Sometimes the lady trout has many
admirers and in such cases the one
who can fight away the others claims
her as his bride, so Mr. Trout has to
fight more or less during all the trip
up stream.
The journeys of the trout usually
occur at night, when they move up
stream a little way until they find a
nice, sheltered pool. Then follows a
eriod of lazy but happy days spent in
(this or other pools still farther up the
tream.
They do not feel very hungry but
still have appetite enough to snap at
"nsects which may be so unfortunate
s to drop on the water above them.
ft is pleasant also to eat an angle
orm which may have fallen into the
ater from a crumbling bank. Now
nd then a trout is deceived and strikes
t a make-believe fly which some angler
has dangled over the pool. The make-
believe fly is fastened to a hook; and
although he feels the prick of the hook
in his jaw it does not pain him much;
but he sees he is caught and struggles
to escape. His mates scurry in all
directions ; some hide under the banks,
some rush up to the next pool, and
others rush down stream. The fish on
the hook rushes about in the deserted
pool until he succeeds in winding the
snell around a root. The excited an-
gler pulls just a little too hard. The
line breaks, leaving a short piece at-
tached to the root but the trout is free.
Quickly he rushes under the bank and
hides his head with its torn jaw. We
may imagine he is thinking how fool-
ish he was and that he will not again
be deceived by an artificial fly. But
who knows whether he will not be the
first one in the pool again to get caught
on a hook?
The angler on the bank has been do-
ing some thinking about the good fight
this trout made, and he can tell you
about another trout which once got on
his hook but which slipped back into
the water when he was taking him
off. However, his eye was torn out
and remained on the hook. The an-
gler had been told that the eyes of
fishes make good bait; so he just left
this eye on the hook and cast it into
The hatching
74
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
the pool. Soon he had another bite
and when he landed a small trout he
found it was the very fish which had
lost its eye. We shall have to excuse
the trout for being so greedy as to bite
its own lost eye on the ground that he
was a little fellow and did not know
any better. I tell you about it in order
to assure you that fishes apparently
suffer little or no pain when hooked.
Now where did we leave our trout?
Oh, yes, he was hiding under the bank.
Well, he does not mind the torn jaw
much and soon looks about for his
friends. One by one the school as-
sembles again and Mr. Trout finds his
mate.
The water in the little brook is grow-
ing cooler every day and finally, when
the stream swells with the rain until
its banks are full, the whole school of
trout moves up stream. A heavy rain,
raising the water in the stream, is al-
ways a signal for the fish to move on.
I
&
More utti,e Fish
Freaks
The two in which we are interested
are an odd-looking pair. Mrs. Trout
is now five years old and weighs a
pound. She was born in this brook
and did not grow very fast until two
years of age. Then she found her-
self in a pond which had been made
by a fisherman.
There were deep places in the pond
much like the pools in the brook, and
there were shallow places where pond
lilies and water plants grew. Here,
too, the water was warmer in the sum-
mer time and many insects laid their
eggs in it or on the plants and these
kept hatching out. The warmer the
water the faster the insects hatched
out. Among these were caddis worms,
which turn into flies and rise to the
top of the water and fly away — if they
can — before a fish catches them. You
will find some more about them
farther on. All these insects and their
eggs or larvae make food for the fishes.
So Mrs. Trout had more room and
more food and as a result she had
grown into a fine, large trout when five
years old.
Mr. Trout is only a little over two
years old and weighs only a quarter of
a pound. It is really funny to see how
fierce he can be when other trout come
THE BIOGRAPHY OF A TROUT
75
near his mate. Some of them are big
fellows, but he drives them all away.
He has lived the most of his life in the
brook, where he must exercise a good
deal in order to get a living. As a re-
sult he is more active than the lazy-
big fellows who loafed around in the
still, deep waters of the pond.
When Mr. Trout is not fighting
away other fish he busies himself in
making love to his mate. He does
this by circling about over and under
out in the gravel by Mr. and Mrs.
Trout is their nest. In nest building
the trout family prefer a hard and
gravelly bottom, where they brush off
all moss or other water plants, and
any loose sticks and stones. Some-
times they cannot find such a good
place, and may have to dig a deep hol-
low through thick weeds until they
reach gravel, making a nest six or
eight inches deep, surrounded by beau-
tiful green water plants. In lakes,
Packing trout eggs, Grand Mesa, Colorado
er. Sometimes he bites her gently
bout her throat as if trying to caress
er just as a child does to his mother.
They both like to rub their sides on
he gravelly bottom, and, with an oc-
:asional flirt of the tail, they make the
)ebbles and gravel fly until the spot
wer which they rest becomes a hollow,
Ind quite clean and bright compared
vith its surroundings. Perhaps it is not
nown that many kinds of fishes have
lests. This clean, bright spot hollowed
where the bottom is mostly fine sand,
they have been known to make nests
a foot deep by rubbing away the sand,
the pebbles settling to the bottom.
At first Mr. and Mrs. Trout work
on their nest only at night, but later
on they become more absorbed and re-
main on the nest during the day as
well. Usually as they lay side by side
their heads are looking in opposite
directions — perhaps the more easily to
watch the approach of enemies. At
76
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
this time almost every living thing-
is an enemy ready to eat the eggs that
Mrs. Trout is about to lay.
One evening, when rubbing over the
gravelly nest, Mrs. Trout lays a lot
of amber colored eggs called spawn.
Then Mr. Trout swims over the nest,
and expels a liquid called milt, which
comes like a flash, and instantly
spreads over the nest, giving a milky
hue to the water, and then rapidly
vanishes as it follows the current down
stream.
All the eggs which are touched by
the milt are made complete. Although
there is more than enough milt to reach
them all, much of it is carried away by
the current, so that many eggs are left
untouched.
This process in nature is called fer-
tilization, and the fertilization of fish
eggs may be compared to that of
flowers.
The egg is to the fish what the seed
is to the plant. The seed of the plant
is not m complete until it has been
united with the pollen. Bees and other
insects when in search of honey shake
off the pollen and carry it from one
flower to another, thus bringing it into
contact with the seed. The milt of the
fish corresponds to the pollen of the
flowers and it is carried to -the eggs by
the water instead of by insects.
Mrs. Trout does not lay all the eggs
at one time and it is several days before
the last egg has been deposited and
she is ready to leave the nest.
From the moment that Mrs. Trout
makes her first deposit of eggs until
this task has been completed there is
great excitement among the inhabitants
of the pool. There are not only a lot
of idle fish hoping for an opportunity
to seize any eggs which do not adhere
to the nest and which may be carried
away by the current, but there are also
some which are very jealous of Mr.
Trout and want to take his place by
the side of Mrs. Trout. Thus Mr.
Trout must not only furnish milt for
each lot of eggs as soon as laid, but
he must keep up the fight begun with
his courtship.
Most of the eggs adhere to the grav-
elly ridge on the lower side of the nest
and there become imbedded. Had not
some of them floated away we might
count about one thousand, but allowing
for what are eaten — and even Mr. and
Mrs.. Trout occasionally eat eggs which
float away from the nest — perhaps five
hundred are fertilized. It is more than
likely that less than two hundred are
destined to hatch into little fish and
that the rest of them will soon die or be
devoured.
Now follows the strange part of the
story, for Mr. and Mrs. Trout having
performed their duties as they know
them, leave the nest and no longer
feel any interest in the eggs or in their
children which may hatch from them.
But that is the way of most cold-
blooded fishes, — not to think any more
of their own children than of other
fishes'; indeed, if a baby fish should
cross the path of Mr. and Mrs.
Trout they would not stop to in-
quire its parentage before making a
meal of it if they happened to be hun-
gry. So these cold-blooded parents
gradually work their way, tail first,
down stream, very likely robbing the
nests of other trout as they go, until
they find a congenial place to stay for
the winter. Here we lose sight of
them, for they became separated and,
just like all the other trout, with no
individual interest for us.
Other trout which ascended the
stream in the same school or in other
schools pair off, make nests, and de-
posit eggs on them just as did our Mr.
and Mrs. Trout. This mating and lay-
ing of eggs lasts for nearly two months.
Before the season is over three other
pairs of trout have cleared up the nest
on which Mr. and Mrs. Trout left eggs.
Each pair eat some of the eggs which
become exposed while they are rub-
bing over the nest. Thus you see that
it is very difficult to keep track of a,
family of trout, for we now have what
remains of the eggs of Mr. and Mrs.
Trout and of three other pairs of trout
all on one nest. Let us see what be-
came of them.
All of the older trout leave that part
of the stream and settle down in deeper
THE BIOGRAPHY OF A TROUT
77
pools in the main stream or in the
pond from which the school started.
The water flowing over the eggs grows
colder and colder until the stream is
covered with ice and snow. The cold
water does not injure the eggs; it only
puts off the time when they will hatch
and the colder the water the longer it
the nest of eggs is not without its
enemies, for there are young trout
born a year ago which must have some
food. One of them can eat several
eggs a day. Then there is a peculiar
little fish called blob, chucklehead,
darter, miller's thumb, star gazer, and
a dozen other names indicative of his
A CROWDED CORNER
takes for the little fishes to develop and
break through the eggs. In fact there
are some advantages in the cold water,
for fishes and other water animals
which are fond of fish eggs are not so
hungry or active during the winter
when the streams are icy cold. Yet
appearance or habits. This little fish
of many names hides under the stones
with his head out or lies on the gravel.
Being of the same color as the bottom
of the stream, he is not easily discov-
ered and when anything good to eat
floats toward him he opens his mouth
78
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
and draws it in, or if necessary darts
after it. As a result many little trout
disappear in its capacious maw, and
if it happens to have a home near a
nest of eggs it does not wait for them
to turn into little fishes, but greedily
devours them.
Then again there are many kinds of
minnows in some trout streams; two
kinds live in the stream where our nest
is, and as they consider trout eggs a
great delicacy, they eat as many as
they can find.
Last, but not least, the caddis worms
are abundant in nearly all trout
streams. Izaak Walton says, "Several
countries have several kinds of cad-
dises that indeed differ as much as dogs
do; that is to say, as much as a very
cur and a greyhound do."
Caddis worms build curious little
houses, shaped like a hollow cylinder,
out of sticks, straw, pieces of bark, or
sometimes of small pebbles, fitted to-
gether as neatly as a mosaic. In these
they live and hide themselves in times
of danger. The boys call them stick-
baits because they are used for bait
and their homes often resemble small
decaying sticks. When in search of
food the worm extends its head and
with front feelers drags the house along
the bottom of the stream. You have
read how they turn into flies and how
Mrs. Trout enjoyed catching the flies
as they rose to the top of the water.
Mrs. Trout also enjoys the worms and it
is fine play for her silently to dart up
behind a caddis worm crawling along
on the bottom, with a quick turn seize
the head and shoulders in her mouth
and shake it so violently that the little
stone house falls off, and the worm
slides a delicate morsel down Mrs.
Trout's throat.
But now the caddises have their re-
venge upon Mrs. Trout, for they like
nothing better than trout eggs and
baby fish with umbilical sacs, like the
one which came to the wife of the
mayor, and many a fine meal they make
off them.
All these and many more forms of
aquatic life are fond of fish eggs, so
you will wonder that any eggs were
left in the nest when the freshet came
with the January thaw.
Notwithstanding all these enemies
some eggs survive and during all this
time little fishes are developing inside
of them until two little eye spots show
through each amber colored shell, first
very faintly and later on more plainly.
Then the outline of the little fishes
curled up in the shells can also be seen,
at first of a whitish color and later of
a distinct brown shade.
It was at this stage that the January
thaw caused the snow on the hills to
melt and the water to pour into the
little stream until it became a raging
torrent and the nest of eggs was
washed out. Some of them are
smothered under the sand and debris
but others find resting places. As one
little egg goes whirling along in the
foaming torrent it is sucked into a
whirlpool ; it spins round and round
and then all is dark but it rides rapidly
along in the water and darkness, the
passageway growing narrower and
narrower, until with a final rush it
comes again to daylight and falls
through the tap into the tender hands
of those whose table it is to grace, as
you learned in the beginning of the
story.
It might have lived here for several
weeks or until the absorption of the
umbilical sac, but it happens that not
far from the city is a fish hatchery
where a paternal government makes a
business of hatching and taking care
of little fishes.
The mayor's wife, full of curiosity
over her discovery, calls in the fish
man and he takes the little fellow to
the hatchery. In the hatchery are
many rows of troughs through which
a gentle current of cold water is con-
stantly flowing. Some of them con-
tain thousands of eggs just like those
laid by Mrs. Trout and little fish are
hatching from them every minute.
There are some troughs in which
the eggs have all hatched; leaving a
mass of fry from a few hours to a few
days old, and all have big umbilical
sacs or bread baskets where their
stomachs ought to be.
THE BIOGRAPHY OF A TROUT
79
Into one of these troughs the fish
culturist puts the little waif from the
city. What a wriggling mass of fish
it is to which this little stranger is
introduced. Not until the trough is
darkened by a cover do they become
quiet.
Every day the fish man looks over
each trough to see how the eggs and
fish are getting along. The minute a
cover is removed the fry begin to
In his daily rounds the fish man
cleans the screens at the lower ends of
the troughs placed there to prevent
the escape of the fry. Otherwise they
will become clogged with tgg shells
and dead fish.
Of course, there are some dead ones
each day, for what else can be expected
from 40,000 baby fish crowded into one
trough 12 or 14 feet long and as many
inches wide? There are many oddly
'Picking" eggs at eiei/d station, Grand Mesa, Colorado
wriggle — first one, then those next to
him, and so the motion spreads until
the entire mass is moving. Each one
spins around on his portly abdomen,
at the same time struggling to stem
the current. Thus there is a tendency
of the entire mass to move towards
the head of the trough where the fall-
ing water assists the whirling move-
ment, and this the fish man describes as
rhythm of motion.
shaped little fishes which do not live
after the bread basket is all gone, so
the fish man picks these out — fishes
with three heads or two heads and
one body, Siamese twins, and hump-
backs. Of these and other deformities
too numerous to mention, the fish man
always finds from ten to one hundred
in every trough of fish.
After a month or six weeks the um-
bilical sacs have been so nearly emp-
so
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
tied that you cannot see what has be-
come of them, and all the time the fish
have been growing stronger and larger.
You might not notice the growth be-
cause of the disappearance of the bread
sacs, which are so prominent when the
fish first pop out of the eggs.
The troughs become overcrowded,
and this is a favorable season of the
year to plant some of the fry where
they can seek natural food when they
become hungry, and hungry they surely
will be soon after the bread sacs have
been absorbed. So one-half of the fry
are taken from each trough, measured
out just as you might measure a small
dipper of berries, and placed in large
cans of water. The fish man has first
counted out one dipperful of fish, in
order that he may know just how many
he is distributing. Then, too, it is de-
sirable for him to measure them, for
he must be careful not to overcrowd
the cans, or the fish will be made sick
or will smother. The cans are loaded
on to wagons and hauled to little spring
brooks, where the fish are carefully dis-
tributed, with the expectation that' as
they grow larger they will work their
way down into larger streams.
You will perhaps wonder how the
fish man can count a dipperful of wrig-
gling fry. He first fills the dipper with
the little fish until they crowd it full
to the brim and there is very little
room for any water. Then he empties
them into a pan of water. All this is
done so quickly that the little fellows
do not suffer any injury from being
crowded. While the fish are scattered
in the pan of water, they are dipped
out, a few at a time, by means of a
small, flat net, and then counted as
they are dipped. Having counted one
dipperful, he uses it as a standard for
measuring the others. There are other
ways of getting at the number of small
fish, but this is a quick and fairly ac-
curate one.
At the end of another week the fif-
teen thousand fry in the trough with
our orphan show signs of hunger by
snapping at any particle floating on
the water. Instead of wriggling about
in the bottom of the trough, they are
now full-fledged little fishes, swim-
ming at various depths from the bot-
tom to the top.
Now is the critical time with the
fry, for they must be fed several times
each day. The food usually consists
of liver, ground very fine and then
strained, only the liquid part being
suitable for the baby fish. This is scat-
tered in the water, and most of the lit-
tle fish learn to take it eagerly, but
there are always some weaklings which
do not eat and must be removed. At
the end of ten days the fish have grown
so rapidly that they are again thinned
out, a part of them being placed in out-
of-door troughs.
(To be continued)
The Laboring Man of To-Day
AS COMPARED WITH FIFTY YEARS AGO
Comparison of Wages and Cost of Living in the past Fifty Years
By RICHARD OLNEY, 2d
A COMPARISON of the condi-
tion of the laboring masses in
1900 with that of fifty or sixty
years ago redounds to the benefit of the
working people of the present genera-
tion. The working hours of the wage-
earner are much shorter, his wages
higher, his opportunities greater than
those of his ancestors of fifty years ago.
He is better able to provide his chil-
dren with an education and certain ad-
vantages of life, which things were al-
most impossible a few years before the
Civil War and for many years after.
Whether the advent of organized labor
or natural causes have played the more
important part in the betterment of la-
bor conditions is the question. There is
no doubt that labor unions have proven
an important factor in shortening labor
hours and in raising wages. While the
average wage-earner apparently enjoys
the same comforts and advantages
(which he had in 1900, how much longer
:an he thrive under the existing condi-
ion of affairs, where the cost of living
s proportionally higher than the in-
:rease of wages since 1900, and how
nuch of his earnings can be laid by for
|i rainy day, as prices for real necessi-
ies of life were never higher, and they
lave been soaring every day?
Investigations among the woolen and
otton mills from 1850 to i860 show
hat seventy-five hours constituted an
verage week's work, and the average
ay for the operator per week was six
seven dollars. The spinners in the
Ikoolen and cotton mills were paid
bout $25 per month, and pay day came
nee in three months. In 1856, and for
ome years after, the whistle blew at
5 o'clock; breakfast was had from 6:45
to 7:30 A.M.; dinner from 12 M. to
12:45 P.M., and at 7:45 the day's work
was over. On Saturday the mills closed
at 5 130 P.M. In the summer season the
hours of employment were from 6 A.M.
to 12 o'clock, and from 12:45 to 6:30
P.M., and on Saturdays the machines
stopped at 5 o'clock.
In 1866 a spinner in the woolen mills
received forty dollars per month and a
weaver twenty. In the late seventies
the factory employes were summoned
to work before 6 o'clock and twelve
hours constituted a day's work. In
1858 seventy-five cents a day was the
average pay for a farm hand. Strange
as it may seem, statistics show that
while wages were extremely low, and
the hours of labor long, before and
some time after the Civil War, the
actual cost of a few of the real necessi-
ties of life was considerably more than
it is to-day. While prices on all com-
modities were excessively high during
and just after the Civil War, yet prior
to i860 flour was sold at $18 per bar-
rel, tea at $1.20 per pound, hardwood
$9.50 a cord, Franklin coal $16 a ton,
Lehigh coal at $12 and $13, and kero-
sene oil at 50 cents per gallon. In
those days corporations conducted their
own stores, where the emloyes were
expected to purchase their goods. To-
day the corporation store exists in some
localities.
The question naturally arises : How
could the laboring classes of forty or
fifty years ago so husband their re-
sources as to make both ends meet and
keep out of debt?
The child-labor law was not then in
81
82
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
existence; consequently, the children
worked in common with their parents.
The employer of labor acted as a sav-
ings bank for the family, and quite a
handsome sum would be forthcoming
to the employes on pay day.
In the days before and after the Civil
War the "butcher had no difficulty in
getting rid of the low qualities of meat,
while to-day he finds the laboring man
purchasing many of his best cuts.
Forty or fifty years ago those of very
moderate circumstances were not pay-
ing $18 per barrel for flour, but were
using a much' cheaper cereal — rye meal
— for bread.
Tables taken from Massachusetts re-
ports showing the fluctuation in wages
in various important branches of trade,
and retail prices for commodities be-
tween i860 and 1897, indicate a higher
wage rate in 1897 than in 1881, while
a general decline appears beween 1872
and 1897.
In order to ascertain whether wages
have really increased or declined, the
prices of commodities and the purchas-
ing power of money must be taken into
account. From the report of "Statis-
tics of Labor," a Massachusetts docu-
ment published in 1897, it is noted that
all articles under the head of "Grocer-
ies" show lower prices in 1897 than in
1881 with the single exception of
"green Rio coffee," which shows an
increase. Under the heading, "Pro-
visions," lower prices in general are
also shown, the exceptions being cer-
tain grades of beef, veal cutlets and
mutton chops.
Lower quotations appear for fuel in
1897 than in 1881 or 1872, and the
same statement applies to dry goods.
Men's bootwear was also less in 1897
than in 1881 or 1872. Under the head
of "Rents," the rates are considerably
lower in 1897 than in 1872, and slightly
higher in 1897 than in 1881. The board
rates for men and women were lower
in 1897 than in 1872, and for men
slightly lower than in 1881. For
women, however, the rates were
slightly higher in 1897 than in 1881.
It is plain, from what has been said
as to the decline in prices, that for most
commodities larger quantities were ob-
tainable for a dollar in 1897 than in
1881 or 1872. Some of the percentages
of increase are very large, whether the
figures for 1881 or 1872 be taken for a
base; e. g., the quantity of flour pur-
chased for one dollar shows an increase
of 50 per cent, in 1897 as against that of
1881, and an even greater increase as
against that of 1872. The increase in
the quantity of granulated sugar pur-
chaseable for one dollar in 1897 as
compared with 1881 was 963/2, and as
compared with 1872, 114^2 per cent.
The quantities of many articles of pro-
visions, coal and dry goods thus pur-
chaseable also show large percentages
of increase.
Upon the basis adopted by the con-
gressional committee, which in 1892
presented an elaborate report on wages
and prices, the results indicate a de-
crease in the price of groceries of 30
per cent, in 1897 as compared with
1881. Provisions show a decrease of
18.53 P er cent, in 1897 as compared
with both 1872 and 1881.
The improvement in the condition of
the laboring man up to 1900 can be
easily and briefly explained. The chief
causes of the advanced cost of living
since then are doubtless more difficult
to fathom and determine. Shorter hours
of labor for the laboring people, gained
through legislation, concessions of cap-
ital and energy on the part of the labor
unions, a more enlightened and intelli-
gent workman, the large number of
American workingmen who own their
homes or other real estate — all bear
witness to the improvement of the con-
dition of the laboring man over that of
twenty years ago. Increased prosperity!
in the business interests of the United j
States, steady employment of labor, ai
general and healthy demand for our:
goods abroad, the growth and upbuild-!
ing of the great West, the gradual en-j
lightenment and broadening throughj
education of the laboring people, new;
and important discoveries of minerals;
(principally gold and copper), have alll
been determining factors in bringing!
to the laboring masses an improvement
in their condition within the last quar-
THE LABORING MAN OF TO-DAY
83
ter-century. Laws working detriment
to labor, or at least not advantageous
to its interests, have been gradually re-
placed with legislation which tends
more to ameliorate its condition with-
out causing estrangement between it
and capital.
Several causes have determined the
high cost of living to-day, and among
them is the enormous increase in the
production of gold, and the natural re-
sult has been a great advance in prices.
The advance in prices has not been
confined to any one section of the civil-
ized world, but it is world-wide in its
operations. The London Economist says :
"A bitter cry from far-away Buda-
Pesth ! In no civilized country does
the laborer and the skilled workman
pay so much for the necessities of life
ias in Hungary. Everywhere the
masses of the people are insisting on
being better housed, clothed and fed."
Still another cause of the present
high prices may be due to the practical
exhaustion of the free public lands of
the West; i. e., the tillage is declining
in proportion to the number of people
to be fed, which would inevitably pro-
duce an upward tendency in the price
of agricultural produce. Throughout
the East, particularly New England,
the rapid growth of cities has been due
largely to a general exodus from the
farms, leaving a disproportionately
small part of the population on the
farms to produce the food of the na-
ion. The constant demand of the city
opulation has tended greatly to ad-
ance the prices of the articles of com-
mon consumption. The price of milk
as steadily advanced for years, as
he city demand has increased, while
he enormous consumption of eggs at
he soda fountain has been a large fac-
or in the advanced price of eggs. The
"iddleman is blamed for high prices
or the necessities of life, and it is
ound that "butter sold at retail in Bos-
on at 40 cents costs but 22 cents in
ermont, and that a ready-made suit
hich commands a retail price of $15
osts but $7.37, of which the cloth, pre-
umably from New England mills,
osts only $2.60. The total cost of pro-
ducing a woman's skirt is $4.85, yet it
sells at retail for $10. For dress goods
selling at retail at 70 cents per yard,
only 39 cents is received by the manu-
facturer." "In the decade from 1896 to
1907 a tendency towards extravagance
by rich and poor alike stimulated busi-
ness and elevated prices. Hitherto the
habit of the people had been along the
line of careful saving, but to-day the
enjoyment of comforts, even of lux-
uries, is part of the every-day life of the
so-called working classes, while more
and more money is going into educa-
tion, better attire, into good homes."
Doubtless, one of the causes of the
higher cost of living expenses over that
of ten years ago comes from the short-
ening of the hours of labor, with the
same standard of wages maintained or
increased. This can well be illustrated
in the government of a town or city. If
a town or city which has been employ-
ing day laborers at a fixed wage for ten
hours a day so amends its by-laws that
eight hours shall constitute a day's
work, the natural consequence will be
that it costs a little more to run a town
or city, and the extra burden is borne
and felt by the taxpayer, who is taxed
a little more on -his personal property
and real estate. The same holds true
in the mills and factories.
Compared with ten or even five years
ago, famine prices now prevail, and the
deplorable condition of affairs is going
to hit especially hard the day laborer,
unskilled mechanic, the clerk in the
bank or store, the salaried man, and the
girls and women in department stores.
Wages have not increased within the
past ten years commensurate with the
great increase in prices of food and
clothing. It really seems a preposter-
ous statement to make, but a careful
analysis of statistics shows that it is no
exaggeration to say that it takes almost
85 cents to-day to pay for what 50 cents
would buy ten years ago ; e. g., iet us
compare the prices of a few important
commodities of to-day with those of
fifty years ago.
Ten years ago you could go into a
country store and buy a barrel of flour
for $5.80; now the same brand costs
84
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
$7.25; beans that now cost 15 cents a
quart brought 7 cents in 1899; corn-
meal to-day costs the same as ten years
ago (this is some consolation) ; kero-
sene oil is about 40 per cent, higher to-
day than in 1899; roast beef in 1899
cost the consumer 142-3 cents, as
against 28 cents to-day; the best rump
ten years ago was worth 25 cents — to-
day it is worth 35 cents; corned beef,
the "poor man's meat," has almost
doubled, from 9 to 16 cents ; veal fore-
quarters worth 13 cents now bring 22
cents; fresh pork has jumped from 10
to 16 cents; smoked hams from 13 to
20 cents; sausages from 11 to 15 cents;
lard from 8 to 16 cents. The brand of
butter that sold for 26 cents now brings
close to 40 cents; milk was 5 and 6
cents then, now 7, 8, 9 and 10 cents.
Coal is up, wood is up ; gas as fuel and
light holds its own.
In the clothing line, shirting ten
years ago at 8 cents was thought dear ;
now you call it a good trade at 15 cents
a yard. Brown sheeting was 8 cents,
now it is at least three times that, or 25
cents a yard ; bleached sheeting was 9
cents, now it is 36 cents ; ticking was 1 1
cents, now it is 16 cents.
Shoes are from 25 to 50 cents a pair
higher, or if, for trade reasons, the price
holds the same,the quality has deterior-
ated,andthesamemightbesaid of cloth-
ing. Whileitisquitepossibletobuy suits
of clothing from $10 to $20 ready-made,
the material must be largely of cotton
or "shoddy." On account of the high
tariff on wool it would be almost im-
possible to produce an all-wool, ready-
made suit for less than $25 or $30. Un-
der the Wilson bill, with free wool, it
was quite possible to buy a tailor-made
suit for $30; the same goods to-day
made up costs about $50.
One very important commodity — oil
— is really cheap to-day, even at 13
cents per gallon, compared with thirty
or forty years ago, when it sold for 40
or 50 cents a gallon at retail. Yet
within ten or fifteen years this same
commodity sold as low as 6 or 8 cents
a gallon.
Henry Cabot Lodge thinks that high
prices are not made by the tariff, and
the world's prices have been advancing
for the past fifteen years. He further
states that "in manufactured articles
some are cheaper here than abroad, be-
cause inventive skill and domestic com-
petition have brought them down.
Other articles made here cost more,
than elsewhere, because the labor costs
more, and just there is the whole tariff
question."
Other writers on the economic ques-
tion think differently. Professor Harry
Thurston Peck, in "Twenty Years of
the Republic," in writing of the after-
effects of the McKinley bill, which be-
came a law October 1, 1890, states that:
"Everywhere the pinch of higher prices
was quickly felt, while no increase in
wages was perceptible."
It is fair to state that wages were
generally increased throughout the
country after the passage of the Mc-
Kinley bill, but not in proportion to
the increased cost of living.
While wages fell off generally and
perceptibly during the second adminis-
tration of Grover Cleveland, from 1893
to 1897, the purchasing power of the
dollar became much enhanced, and
most of us can remember how really
cheap the real necessities of life
amounted to during the Cleveland ad-
ministration. The hard times and panic
of 1893 will ever be remembered by
those who lived in that period. Busi-
ness was generally stagnant in all
trades and professions; mill machinery
was silent for months ; failures and sus-
pensions followed one another; and
when confidence was finally restored,
business was conducted along more
careful and conservative lines than ever
before. The American people were re-
markably blessed in having for their
President during that panicky period a
man of the honesty, ability and cour-
age of Grover Cleveland. It was he
who, on account of an almost depleted
treasury, inherited from the previous
administration, was compelled to issue
bonds to maintain the credit of the na-
tion. Early in 1894 the government
gold fund had sunk to $70,000,000,
against which there was outstanding
nearly $500,000,000 of paper money, all
THE LABORING MAN OF TO-DAY
85
of it, according to the Cleveland policy,
redeemable upon demand in gold. This
step — the issue of bonds — had been
contemplated by President Harrison at
the close of his administration, for the
drain upon the gold reserve had begun
even then; but the necessity had been
postponed by Secretary Charles Foster,
who got a temporary loan of gold —
about $8,000,000 — from a group of New
York bankers. Undoubtedly the slow
progress of the Wilson bill prolonged
the feeling of uncertainty in the busi-
ness world and depressed all forms of
industry. The Wilson bill became a law
August 28, 1894, without the signature
of the President. Mr. Cleveland, in a.
letter made public afterwards, thought
the Wilson act better in some of its
provisions than the existing tariff law.
The Wilson bill, as enacted, was far
from a free trade bill, as some orators
falsely preach, effecting an average re-
duction of duty less by 11 per cent,
than that of the McKinley tariff Mr.
Cleveland's idea of a tariff measure was
to give American manufacturers free
raw materials, enabling them to pro-
duce as cheaply as the foreigner, and
hence enhance the market for Ameri-
can-made goods, and that tariff charges
should be reduced upon the necessities
of life. A measure embodying these
ideas, the Wilson bill, passed the
House, but when it emerged from the
I Senate it had been so amended and
modified that its original character was
almost completely destroyed. Coal,
iron ore, lumber and sugar were re-
moved from the free list altogether,
leaving wool and copper the only raw
materials to be let in untaxed. While
in the House of Representatives of
1893-94 there was a Democratic ma-
jority, the Senate was more evenly di-
vided, having only a slight Democratic
[majority. Mr. Cleveland was probbaly
not the most popular man with the
United States Senate during his presi-
dency. He had enemies in his own
party, and because four or five of the
Democratic senators allied themselves
with their colleagues they were en-
abled to so cripple the Wilson bill as to
make it practically unrecognizable as a
tariff reform measure. The practical
defeat of this measure was undoubtedly
one of the keenest disappointments in
Mr. Cleveland's political tenure of
office.
The heaviest deficit under President
Cleveland's administration ($69,000,-
000 in 1893-1894) occurred while the
McKinley act was still in force, show-
ing plainly enough that the Wilson act
was in nowise responsible for the loss
of the revenue from 1893 to J 895.
Soon after President McKinley was in-
augurated he called Congress together
to restore the "high protective tariff,"
in spite of the fact that the treasury
showed an actual surplus of nearly
$9,000,000. However, the question was
not one of revenue. The old protected
industries were crying for the favors
which they had formerly enjoyed. The
Dingley bill became a law July 24, and
on the whole it resembled the McKin-
ley act of 1890, though the average
rate of duty on imports was slightly
increased. The trusts and highly-pro-
tected industries were, of course, de-
lighted.
The Payne-Aldrich bill, supposedly
a step towards revision of the tariff
downwards, was enacted into a law in
the midsummer of 1909, and the trusts
and highly-protected industries are still
hugging themselves with glee. The
Payne-Aldrich act, as far as it may op-
erate to lower the prices of manufac-
tured goods and the real necessities of
life, promises to be a farce and a sub-
terfuge. While the bill provides a mod-
erate reduction on various articles of
daily consumption, it seems as if the
protected interests had been looked
after very faithfully and carefully at
Washington, and that material reduc-
tion in certain articles, while making
good reading and having a tendency to
fool the public, still keeps those articles
safely protected from foreign competi-
tion. The writer has dwelt at some
length on the tariff question, because
he firmly believes that herein lies one
of the main causes of the high cost of
living, and that a high, protective tariff
does not mean the greatest good to the
greatest number.
so
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
We are surrounded with a tariff wall
so high and impregnable that we are
apt to come to industrial war with
other nations. Germany is already dis-
criminating against our meat products,
while England, which has been pros-
perous under "free trade" for years, is
agitating the tariff question through
the Unionist party. It would not be at
all surprising to see England adopt a
moderate tariff within the next few
years.
When wool was admitted free of
duty under the Wilson act, it was pre-
dicted that the sheep industry would
be ruined in the United States. The
sheep industry in England has enjoyed
almost uninterrupted prosperity for
years under free trade. American man-
ufacturers, besides using all the wool
of this country, are obliged to import
as much more.
Sugar is a product of Louisiana,
Porto Rico and the Philippine Islands.
England does not produce sugar, yet
this important article of consumption
is sold as low, if not lower, there than
here. Let us take the case of tin. The
high tariff excludes this necessary arti-
cle from Wales, and the domestic man-
ufacturer gets the exclusive benefit.
A comparison of the cities of De-
troit and Windsor (just over the bor-
der from Detroit) furnishes an exam-
ple of the difference in cost of living.
In Windsor the best butter is 28 cents
a pound; eggs 34 cents a dozen; beef
30 per cent, less ; pork and bacon 7
cents lower; vegetables are cheaper,
also poultry. As a whole, it costs 25
per cent, less to live in Windsor than it
does across the river in Detroit. The
tariff on each article, if brought into
the United States, just about accounts
for the difference in price.
The original principle of protective
tariff in this country meant the pro-
tection of our resources and energies
against foreign competition.
The whole system of the Payne-Ald-
rich bill is one by which not the coun-
try at large is profited, but certain
beneficiaries.
The writer has found from experi-
ence that in some localities in New
England the employes in mills and fac-
tories are better housed and clothed
and better paid than in other localities.
In the smaller towns, as a rule, rents
and commodities are lower, and wages,
if anything, a trifle higher, than in the
cities. In the larger cities and towns,
where, as a rule, the big woolen and cot-
ton mills are hived, on account of a
plentiful supply of help, labor is cheap,
and the wages are apt to be lower
There has been a remarkable influx
of a mixed foreign population into the
cities within the past ten years, princi-
pally of Slavs, Poles, Hungarians, Rus-
sians and Armenians.
In its present condition this class of
labor lowers the standard of living
among the working people, as well as
the standard living wage.
During the panic of 1907-1908 wages
suffered most notably. There was a
wide curtailment in the production of
manufactured articles ; mills and fac-
tories ran on short time, and wages
were reduced quite generally all over
the United States. Now that prices
have recovered, and in some cases of
commodities have soared beyond the
prices of the early months of 1907, have
zvages increased proportionately to meet
the demand?
A report issued by the New York
Association for Improving the Condi-
tion of the Poor shows that among 1000
men who had been compelled to ask aid
the average yearly wage at full time
varied from $525 to $515, and these
were strong, able-bodied men with
lamilies, desirous of work, the percent-
age of skilled and unskilled laborers
being about half and half.
A recent study of economic condi-
tions in New York city under the Sage
Foundations fixed $800 as the sum nec-
essary for a decent standard of living
for a family of five or six (the average
size).
"Another investigation, conducted by
the Federal Bureau of Labor at Wash-
ington, shows the average income of
T415 workmen in the North Atlantic
States to have been $834. Against this
average yearly income is placed an ex-
penditure of $778, leaving an apparent
THE LABORING MAN OF TO-DAY
87
balance of some $50 for the annual sur-
plus; but as the Washington investi-
gations include a large majority of
skilled workmen, the conclusion has
not the force or pertinence of the New-
York inquiry/'
Undoubtedly, it costs more to live
than it ever did, and, while the house-
keeper and storekeeper will never
agree as to how much it costs, they
both probably are of the opinion that
people are living in greater comfort
and luxury than ever before.
The workman may scoff when told,
even by the Secretary of Agriculture,
that "the average laborer is to-day liv-
ing better than Queen Elizabeth did in
her time." Secretary Wilson had just
returned to Washington from a month's
vacation on his Iowa farm, and was
much impressed by the luxury in which
the farmers lived. In the secretary's
opinion, the workingman is inclined to
live high, too.
"Take the meat bills of the laborer in
Washington to-day," he said. "You will
find that they eat meat three times a
day — most of them — and, what is more,
they are not contented with any kind ;
they want the best cuts. They can af-
ford them. As a result, the price of
meat is away up."
From opinion gathered from whole-
sale grocers in Boston, food necessities
to-day, compared with five years ago,
show the following increase : Beef, 30
per cent. ; butter, 20 per cent. ; poultry,
20 per cent. ; eggs, 20 per cent. ; cheese,
20 per cent. ; potatoes, 20 per cent.
A mercantile agency announces that
the cost of living is 49 per cent, more
than in 1896; i. e.:
"The strain of higher, prices for raw
products," says Bradstreets, "is not
only being felt by the manufacturers,
who are in turn forced to advance
prices on finished goods, but it is also
inducing demand for higher wages by
employes, who are using the increased
cost of living as a basis for enhanced
remuneration.
"Notwithstanding the increased cost
of living, Boston savings banks gained
5.24 per cent, in deposits last year, the
total amount on hand October 31 being
$232,125,000, or nearly as much as the
savings banks of the Western and Pa-
cific States combined had in 1908.
Some people's income have more than
kept pace with their outgo."
The high cost of living caused by a
prohibitive tariff wall, the intricacies
and inefficiency of the Payne-Aldrich
bill, "reciprocity with Canada," and the
vetoing of an eight-hour law applying
to public employers by a Republican
Governor, were the main issues upon
which the Democratic orators expati-
ated and brought to the attention of
the voters in Massachusetts in the fall
election of 1909, and that the people are
considering these questions is evident
from the great reversal of the state vote
of 1908. In IQ08 the Republican nom-
inee for Governor was elected by 60,000
plurality and his running mate by 96,-
000. In 1909 the Democratic party,
thoroughly organized and united, put
forward a representative ticket and
came within 7000 to 8000 votes of elect-
ing both Governor and Lieutenant-
Governor.
These facts show clearly enough that
the people are thinking for themselves
these days, and that while a boom in
general business may redound to the
benefit of the few, and a partisan press
may cry "Prosperity," yet it does not
solve the problem of a high cost of liv-
ing nor amelioration of the conditions
of the great mass of our laboring popu-
lation, which problem should call for
most careful consideration and earnest
action on the part of our most humane
and public-spirited citizens and philan-
thropists.
^^f^^^^
A Typical Yankee Bird
By MARGARET WENTWORTH LEIGHTON
TOOT, toot— toot, toot, I come,
I come ; make way, make way,"
sounds a joyful shout as a grey-
blue arrow shoots across the snowy
field. "Toot, toot, I say, I say," the an-
swering calls ring out on the crisp
March air.
All the senses of our forest kin being
so much more
highly developed
than our own,
these jolly jays
have perceived a
hint of spring in
the air, which is
in nowise re-
vealed to our
duller senses, and
are exulting i n
their discovery.
There goes the
troop of eight
merry blue-
coats. Watch
them clutch the
bare boughs,
jump up and
down and shout
exuberantly.
The jay is a
bird with a
many-sided
character. Some
of the most emi-
nent authorities
o n t h e subject
assure us that he
and his crow
cousins possess larger brains and more
wit than any other members of the
feathered tribe. Certain it is that blue-
coat is a philosophic fellow and read-
ily adapts himself to all manner of
hardships and privations for the sake
of remaining in his northern home
throughout the year. The very fact
Photograph hy Charles P. Price
Our pet Jay on a favorite perch
of his choosing to brave our severe
winters is greatly to his credit.
The jay has many enemies, more
perhaps than any other feathered New
Englander. When autumn arrives,
with its surcease from toil and its
bountiful tables spread everywhere by
nature's lavish hand, Sir Blue-Coat's
misdeeds are for-
gotten — or for-
given — and he is
received i n t h e
bestsociety. This
is truly the birds'
playtime. The
cares and respon-
sibilities of par-
enthood are
over for the year
and they feast
and frolic to their
hearts' content.
Their autumn
songs have a dif-
f e r e n t quality
from their spring
raptures. Less
ardent, but not
less sweet, are
these soft songs
of thanksgiving.
During the
nesting season
the garrulous
blue-coat has
been silent as a
Trappist monk,
and Madam Jay
has talked to her babies in the softest
of gurglings. Well they know that it
would never do to betray, by ever so
slight a sound, the whereabouts of
their most precious possession — ■ the
nest of brown-spotted eggs, or the cradle
of helpless young. In the autumn the
jays seem to feel that they must com-
A TYPICAL YANKEE BIRD
89
pensate for their long silence, and, like
imprisoned savages set free, with wild
war-whoops these handsome scamps
dart across the meadows and flit about
the forest. They resemble the Indian
in their vanity, their love of finery and
their predacious habits.
Emulating their industrious neigh-
bors, the squirrels and field-mice, they
make a pretence at laying up a winter
store of food, but it rarely serves for
imore than a quick lunch now and then,
They have a habit of frequenting the
pinyon trees, and burying in the ground
large numbers of pine nuts, which
eventually grow into trees. Anyone
who chooses may go into a woodlot, or
even a backyard where there are oak
trees, in early autumn, and watch
the jays pluck the acorns, fly with
them to some tree at quite a distance
(loudly tooting all the way, as if to
advertise their good work), and wedge
them into cracks or crotches. Mr. For-
Photograph by Ernest Harold Baynes
Blue-coat
hen blue-coat happens to remember
here he has deposited a nut. He is
articularly fond of acorns and chest-
uts, and no one is more clever at
pening a chestnut burr than this for-
st rogue.
j The bluejay is a planter of trees, in-
advertently, of course; yet this is a
'act to be set down on his credit side.
Ln old wood-chopper assures us that
be jays originally planted thousands
If the trees now growing in Arizona.
bush, state ornithologist for Massachu-
setts, tells us that he came across a
young pine tree growing in the fork of
a maple, ten feet from the ground, and
there were no other pine anywhere
near. There is no doubt but this was
the work of a mischievous blue-coat.
How do the birds that brave New
England winters live through the ter-
rible storms that are sure to visit us
during the inclement season? It has
been truly said that the bird has not
90
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
where to lay his head. The evergreens
are Nature's hostelries for the home-
less ones, and to some thicket of pine
or cedar they usually betake them-
selves on the approach of a storm. But
this is not always the case. One Janu-
ary morning, a few years ago, a severe
northeast snowstorm set in, with the
mercury only four degrees above zero.
By noon it was raging with terrific
force. At the south side of my home
stands a group of birches and white
oaks. One of the latter, still clothed
in its garb of withered leaves, stretched
a branch toward the house, which
reached to within a couple of feet of a
chamber window. Happening to glance
from this window about two o'clock, I
saw a bluejay nestled cosily among the
brown leaves, one little twig just above
Photograph hy B. S. Bowdish
A Jay's cradle
his head forming a canopy. His feath-
ers were fluffed out and his bright eyes
peeped confidently at us. As the day
waned, the storm increased Twice the
jay stood up and shook off the snow
which had drifted over him, and set-
tled himself in as comfortable a posi-
tion as the circumstances, would allow.
How many times I wakened during
that night to think of the little corpse,
in its blue winding-sheet, which I
should find beneath my window in the
morning! As soon as it was light
enough to see I looked apprehensively
at the ground. No small, white mound,
with a blue feather sticking through
here and there, revealed itself. Eagerly
I glanced up and there, still clinging to
the branch, his eyes as bright, his spirit
as undaunted as ever, sat my brave bird.
Who could help admiring such courage
as he displayed? By eight o'clock the
snow had ceased falling and a broad
beam of sunshine shot through the
parting clouds. I had the pleasure of
seeing blue-coat, after a final shake,
spread his wings, and, with a joyful
shout, sail away in search of his break-
fast, apparently no whit disturbed by
the strenuous twenty-four hours he
had just passed through.
Many persons assert that the jay is a
robber, or cannibal, even. There was
so much agitation among the farmers
and the rural population in general that
a few years ago our national govern-
ment took up the subject and made an
investigation. The stomachs 'of three
hundred jays were examined during
the nesting season. Out of this large
number only three contained traces of
the egg-shells of small birds, and but
two the remains of nestlings. It was
found that j6 per cent, of the jay's diet
was vegetable, and of the 24 per cent,
of his animal diet a large part consisted
of injurious insects, such as caterpil-
lars, wasps, grasshoppers and beetles.
The jay has been a great aid to our
state entomologists in exterminating
the overwhelming hordes of brown-tail
and gypsy moths. Not only does he
eat the caterpillars in the open, but I
have seen him poke his inquiring beak
beneath the burlap petticoats, which
now adorn most of our shade and fruit
trees, and secure the clusters of gypsy
larvae and cocoons. He is especially
fond of the pupae of these moths, and
regards a bunch of the juicy morsels
with the same feeling that we should
devour a luscious bunch of grapes.
What if blue-coat does steal a little
corn or filch a few berries now and
then? Does he not more than compen-
sate for his pilferings by the good he
does the farmer and the pleasure he
affords the farmer's wife and children?
How his constant presence, his cheer-
ful tootings and his lively antics
brighten the dreary winter days !
Blue-coat is an altruist, ready with-
A TYPICAL YANKEE BIRD
91
out an instant's hesitation to take up
the cause of any bird in the community
in which he lives, even if it be at the
risk of his own life. One morning in
May I heard the unmistakable alarm
cries of the jays, and harried out to see
what was amiss. In one of the tall oaks
at the back of the house an enormous
crow sat on the edge of a robin's nest,
calmly devouring the blue eggs, while
the robins cried piteously, and the jays,
with angry screams, darted at him
One certainly would not attribute to
the jay family any great skill in the
musical' line, yet were he to make a
careful study of the Corvidae he would
find that some members of the group
possess remarkable vocal ability. Did
you ever hear a jay talking, either to
himself, to a companion, or speaking
in a jay council? Truly, I know of no
bird who seems to approach so closely
to having a language of his own as does
this garrulous fellow. Many persons
'hotograph by Wilbur F. Smith
Madam Jay inspecting her completed nest
rom all sides. He was forced to leave
is repast unfinished, and as he started
or the woods he was pursued by the
obins and jays, the latter darting and
ecking him as rapidly as possible. I
ave seen an enormous crow van-
ished by a single jay in mid-air ; the
atter, so much quicker and more agile
a movement than the former, dropping
n him from above and pecking at him
ill he was glad to seek shelter in a
neighboring tree.
know only his harsh "jay-jay" scream
— his alarm cry or his toot of triumph.
Others are aware that he is a good
mimic, sometimes uttering a hawk's
cry so perfectly that the birds who hear
it hasten to cover. Blue-coat is so full
of mischief that this performance
causes him huge delight.
I believe the people who have heard
a jay sing in a clear, musical voice a
truly charming little song are few and
far between. It was my good fortune
92
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
Madam Jay with her babes
one June to be presented with a young
jay, which had been blown from the
nest during a high wind. The bird was
uninjured and readily adapted himself
to the changed conditions which life
with a human foster-mother necessi-
tated. Before the end of a week he
was following me about the house and
grounds like a devoted puppy, and
great was his delight when I crawled
beneath the piazza to capture daddy-
long-legs for him. How gayly he
tripped up to receive each one from my
fingers as I called to him.
Every morning I spent a half-hour
before breakfast practicing singing.
This performance interested the little
jay immensely, and as soon as he heard
the first notes struck on the piano he
hastened to the parlor, settled himself
comfortably on the lower rung of a
chair and listened most intently. Be-
fore long he began making the most
ludicrous attempts at singing that one
can imagine, but he improved, daily,
and by the end of his third week of
practicing his performance was really
remarkable. He improvised as he sang,
but every now and then, in the midst
of a delicious warble, he startled us by
uttering a savage scream, which
seemed not to mar the effect of his
song in the least from the jay stand-
point. Certain sounds and certain
tunes always moved him to express his
feelings in song; thunder storms, the
whirr of the sewing machine, the fau-
cet when running full force. James
Hogg's "Skylark" was an especial fa-
vorite of the young jay, as were also
selections from Mendelssohn's "Nine-
ty-Fifth Psalm," "Dixie" and "Bonnie
Laddie."
I have heard that the jays are espe-
cially kind to the old and infirm mem-
bers of their tribe, feeding them, lead-
ing them to water and warning them
of danger. This I cannot vouch for,
A TYPICAL YANKEE BIRD
93
but I have seen a jay fly to my ears of
corn, tied among the trees, fill his beak
with the yellow kernels, flit to another
jay who sat at her ease on a fence near
by, and in a most gallant manner pass
her the kernels one by one, till she had
devoured them all, and then return and
bring her a second beakful.
Why is it, I wonder, that so many of
the birds, jays among them, continue
to feed their young when the children
have grown to be larger than their par-
ents, and are entirely competent to
provide for themselves? This sum-
mer I watched a pair of jays who
seemed to have assumed a double bur-
den, for between every two beaksful
of food brought to their young, who
had left the nest, these devoted blue-
coats stole a few moments to break
dead twigs from the oak trees to weave
into a new nest which they were has-
tening to complete in preparation for a
second brood.
I think if one should say to me,
"Your feathered friends are to be de-
stroyed. You will never see them more.
From among them you may choose one
to remain," that one should be the blue-
jay.
Photograph by Wilbur F. Smith
LITTLE BUJE-COATS
( t
Chile Trouble"
By JOSEPHINE COMPTON BRAY
HAS I ever seed any trouble?
'Deed I is !" replied Mammy,
in answer to Miss Car'line's
friend, who was seated on the op-
posite side of the laundry table,
and was watching mammy as she
slowly folded the clean clothes after
she had sprinkled them from a large
bowl of water beside her. " 'Deed I is !
An' my cup is done overflow'd wid it
mo' den once. I done 'sperience it in
both war an' peace, an' it come jes as
nateral to me in one as de yuther. May
be yo' don' know nuthin' 'bout dem
darksome days when two big armies
come in collision wid one 'nother an'
didn't leave nuthin' but dissolution in
dyah tracks an consternation ev'ry-
where. But dat is all over now an' de
Bible tells us, 'Let de dade bury de
dade.' De grass is done grow'd an'
covered it all up ; we's done shet our
'eyes an' put dem times behin' us, an'
mos' all dem dat suffered den is done
gone down to peaceful graves. De peo-
ple has riz up from dyah prostration ;
dyah ain't no mo' weepin' nor gnashin'
uv teeth kaze de sun is shinin' in dyah
do's ag'in. Da has took dyah harps
frum de willow trees an' is singin' de
ole songs uv Zion ag'in.
"But yo' can't allurs forgit, no mat-
ter how hard yo' try. My ole Marster
never did, an' after de war wuz over
nobody didn't never durst mention it
in his presence. But 'twa'n't no won-
der, kaze my ole Marster had trouble
same as de sparks dat fly upwards, only
da wan never 'stinguished, which is
most liable to us all. He sade hisself
dat his cup wuz full of nuthin' but
dregs up to the ve'y brim.
"I allurs thought he mout hev lived
up against all dat if yuther trouble
hadn't pressed so hard upon him, kaze
94
he wuz one uv de peacefulest, content-
edest, happiest men yo' ever seed. He
wuz allurs playin' wid de younger chil-
lun, an' goin' on expeditions wid de
older ones, 'specially Miss Virginia.
Miss' 'Lizabeth had been goin' roun'
wid young Mr. Carter ever since da
wuz chillun together, an' she wuz
'gaged to be married to him off an' on
frum dat time till she married him. So
she didn't take da same intrus' in
things dat Miss Virginia did, 'ceptin'
in de intermediate times when she
done broke off her 'gagement; den
she wuz ready to jine in wid every
thing goin' on, and wuz de fuss to lean
out de winder when de serenaders
come."
"In dem days de girls 'gin to have
beaux soon as da enter da teens, an' da
didnt' pay no 'tention to de governess
when she try to tighten de reins. When
da come home from boardin' school an'
bring yuth^rs wid um, de young men
couldn't do 'nough for dyah pleasure.
Gittin' up ridin' parties an' sendin' over
dyah bes' horses fur de visitors to ride,
an' Vitin' um to crabin' an' dancin'
parties, an* goin' sailin', an' I don't
know what all. Sometimes at night,
when yo' soun' a-sleep, yo' heah suthin'
wakin' yo' up like music; den me an'
Tilly would jump up from our pallets
on de flo' an' help de ladies slip on dyah
dressin' gowns. We didn't make no
light, but peep out de winder an' see in
de moonlight de horses tied to de trees,
an' shadows under de winder an' voices
singin' suthin' 'bout 'Come Wid Me,
Love,' an' 'How Can I Eeave,' an' all
dem kind uv songs.
"De girls clasp dyah han's an' whis-
per, 'Ain't it pretty?' an' 'Who does
yo' think they are?' an' da name fuss
one an' den de yuther, till de serenaders-
CHILE TROUBLE"
95
come to de las' one, 'Farewell, My
Love/
"Sometimes ole Marster open de do'
an' let urn in to git a taste uv wine an'
brandy dat wuz allurs standin' in de
decanters on de sideboard. Dem curt'ny
wuz happy times," Mammy said, medi-
tatively. "Mars John had learned so
fast dat he cotched up wid his tutorer
an' wuz sont off to school, but it were
'tirely indifferent wid de girls. Miss
'Lizabeth wuz mostly occupied wid Mr.
Carter, an' Miss Virginia wuz con-
stant wid her father. He was mighty
proud uv her an' well he mout be, fur
she was a perfect beauty. Ev'ry body
know'd it, an' tole her so, but it didn't
spile her one bit. She wuz allurs ready
to help every body, white or colored,
an' singin' 'round de house jes like a
mockin' bird. Ole Marster took her wid
him on de long journeys to de cou't
house, an' jurin' de intercession uv'de
Legislature, when de town wuz lively
as a camp meetin'. Tilly wuz allurs
busy gittin' her clo's ready an' packed,
an' she allurs went wid her to wait on
her.
"She wuz de foremos' in de fox
hunts, an' dyah wan' nobody could set
a horse like her; never movin' a inch
frum de saddle when de horse leaped
de ditches an' fences, an' she mostly
brought home de bush hangin' frum
de pomel uv her saddle. Ole Marster
wuz close by her side, an' he kep' a
steady watch on de young men dat
crouded 'roun. I don' b'lieve he
thought de king hisself wuz good
'nough fur her.
"Dis wuz 'fore de war; an' when all
j we fuss hyrd dat de bugle done soun'
an' de people wuz risin' up, we didn't
b'lieve it; but bime by o!e Marster sade
he wuz gwine git ready fur de wuss,
an' Mars John corned home, an' da wuz
all talkin' an' got 'cited, an' ole Miss
and Miss 'Lizabeth wuz cryin' till da
bof went away. Mars Richard wan' to
go, too, an' beg an' beg; but he wa'n't
nuthin' but a boy jes turnin' fifteen,
tho' he wuz so big an' tall, an' old
Marster s'waded him to stay at home
an' take kere uv de res' uv de family.
"When de day come fur um to start,
an' da an' dyah horses, too., wuz dressed
up in dyah new uniforms, ev'ry body
went out on de piazza to see um off an'
bid um good-bye.
"Ole Miss an' Miss' Lizabeth couldn't
stan' to see um go, an' da took de chil-
lun an' went in an' shet de do' but
Miss Virginia an' me an' Tilly watched
um ridin' down de yard, de horses so
proud uv dyah bridles and fringed sad-
dles dat da wuz archin' dyah necks an'
prancin' 'long wid dyah feet hardly
techin' de groun'.
"Miss Virginia stood dyah laughin'
an' wavin' her hankcher' high as she
could hole it over her hade, an' me an'
Tilly wuz hine her wavin' our aprons
till da went thro' de big gate an' wuz
out uv sight.
"De whole plantation know'd den
dat war wuz gwine on, but we didn't
heah nuthin', an' ev'ry thing went on
jes' de same. At fuss ole Marster an'
Mars John corned home once in a
while; den da didn't come no mo'. We
hyrd de big guns roarin' 'wayoff yonder
somewhar', an' den da come nearer an'
nearer, till it' peared like da wuz close
by. We wuz so skeered dat didn't no-
body go out de house 'ceptin' Mars
Richard, an' he allurs took his gun an'
'clare he gwine shoot de fuss one dat
come on de plantation. De colored peo-
ple at de quarters sade dat . de army
wuz campin' right back uv de woods,
an' dat da went over dyah to see what
wuz goin' on, an' da kep' goin' an'
goin', till Mars Richard sade dyah wan'
many mo' lef, 'scusing dem at de
house.
"W T e wuz gittin' on as bes' we could
after dis, when early one mornin' we
wuz waked op by a great noise. De
house wuz shakin' like thunder, an' de
cheirs sot to rockin' an' we couldn't
stop um. It wan' worth while to try to
eat nuthin', kaze de china rattled on de
table like it wuz gwine jump off. We
all sot down speechless an' we couldn't
talk, but shook like de cups. We could
heah de bugle soundin' an' de people
shoutin' an' callin' an' de horses
screamin', and we sot still jes like we
wuz dade. Mars Richard stood close
to ole Miss an' kep' tellin' her not to
96
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
mine it. Den sudden we hyrd a great
shout, an' frum de winder we seed urn
comin' like a swarm uv bees, gallopin'
dyah horses, an' some runnin', an' when
da reached de fence roun' de lawn da
didn't min' it no mo' dan if da had foun'
it as low as da laid it. It wuz de same
wid de big front gate — wan' nuthin'
lef but de two marble pos'es. When
Mars Richard saw dis he picked up
his gun an' run. Miss 'Lizabeth call
to me an' Tilly, 'Go! go! an' save
him ! Da won' shoot yo' kaze yo' is
black.'
"I took hole uv Tilly an' went fas'
as we could, but da wuz shootin' when
we got out in de yard, bof Mars Rich-
ard and de solgers, an' when de smoke
cleared 'way Mars Richard wuz on de
groun'. I runned to him an' kep' callin'
'Mars Richard ! Mars Richard !' but he
wouldn't speak; he lay still. One uv
de solgers took hole uv me an' sade :
"'What is yo' doin' out heah? Go
in de house !"
'"Is yo' done kill Mars Richard?' I
ax him. 'Is he dade? What old Miss
gwine do? Is yo' done kill my mar-
ker?'
" 'Yo' ain't got no marster!' he an-
swer ; 'yo' is jes as free as I is !'
"'I don't kear if I is free!' I say.
'Dis is my ole Misses' chile, an' my
marster.' I looked at Mars Richard wid
de blood runnin' out his mouf an' felt
jes like I gwine drap dade, too. I wuz
mad, too; an' while me an Tilly wuz
callin' dat solger names an' sassin' him,
another one come up to us wid epa-
taphs on his shoulders an' ac' like he
wuz tearin' mad. When he call 'Who
done dis?' de fuss solger looked
skeared an' took off his cap an' call him
captain, an' 'low dat de rebel shot fuss ;
but de captain 'clare he wan' gwine
take no 'cuse fur dis barberous ac' an'
he gwine see jestice done. He 'peared
dreadful sorry an' kneeled down by
Mars Richard an' took hole uv his han's
an' say he gwine carry him in de house
an' do what he could ; but somebody
call an' heah come Miss Virginia.
When she git up to where we wuz, she
sade to de captain:
"'Don' yo' tech my brother! Yo'
done kill him! Don' yo' come nigh
him!'
"He tried his bes' to tell her how it
were an' dat he wan' to help her, but
she wouldn't listen to nuthin', an' put
her arms 'roun' Mars Richard an' tole
me an' Tilly to help, an' we took him
in de house. I never know'd we could
do it, he wuz so big, but sorrow made
us strong. Nobody dat ain't never
been in no war can't never feel what
dat day wuz to my ole Miss, not 'cusin'
de res' uv us.
"De captain come to de door mo' dan
once an' ax fur Miss Virginia, but she
wouldn't see him. Den he writ to her.
At fuss she wouldn't read it, but when
she did she went out an' talked wid
him. After dat she let him tend to
every thing 'bout buryin' Mars Rich-
ard in de family graveyard dat wuz
'tached to de garden.
"Before we wuz ready de sun had
gone down in de red sky, an' de moon
wuz sailin' 'long de clouds, when old
Miss an' every body, white an' colored,
come out de house an' kneeled down
roun' de erave, while Miss Virginia
read de Bible an' prayed. De captain
wuz dyah, too, mournin' wid all we, an'
de mockin' bird wuz singin' in a whis-
per like he was sorry, too.
"After dat de captain couldn't do
'nough fur none uv de family. Dvah
wuz so many solgers dat he couldn't
subject um all de time, an' da soon
'stroyed every thing on de plantation,
but he kep' a watch on de house, an'
didn't nuthin' 'sturb us.
"Ole Miss wouldn't 'low fur him to
come in de house, an' Miss Virginia
had to 'municate wid him at de do'.
"When de war wuz over an' peace
an' silence wuz pronounced, ole Mar-
ster and Mars John come home fur
good. Mars John didn't have a scratch
on him, but ole Marster had been shot
in de lef bres' bone uv his back, an'
though de doctor had extricated de
ball, he allurs had to walk wid a cane.
He didn't laugh like he used to. an'
never sade nuthin'. We know'd what
wuz on his min', and dat he wuz
thinkin' 'bout de destruction uv de
plantation an' Mars Richard's grave.
"CHILE TROUBLE"
97
"Some uv de colored people dat went
'way corned back an' wanted to stay
home, an' 'gin to tell ole Marster why
da lef, but he sade: 'Stop right dyah!
1 don' wan' to know nuthin' 'bout
it; go to work an' I will give yo' jes-
tice.'
"Den every body went to work;
Mars John, he help, too, an' ole Marster
did what he could. Miss 'Lizabeth kep'
school wid de chillun an' wuz de cheer-
fules' one uv us all.
"De reason why wuz, she told all
we, dat Mr. Carter done fight through
de whole war, an' had his cloze full uv
bullet holes, an' been commoted, an'
he hadn't los' nary leg nor nuthin' in
de combat. So she had suthin' to re-
concile her. But Miss Virginia 'pear
like she couldn't settle herself to
nuthin', an' when she talk low to her
mother ole Miss seem like she gwine
'stracted. I sade to Tilly dat I b'lieve
Miss Virginia gwine in a decline. Tilly
answer, ' 'Deed she ain',' but Miss Vir-
ginia tole her dat she wuz 'gaged to be
married to de captain, an' she mus'n't
say nuthin' 'bout it, kaze she is 'fraid
to let ole Marster know.
When Tilly sade this my teeth 'gin
to rattle, an' I tole her she done put me
"n ^ a perfec' ague, but I know'd it
oin' to kill ole Marster. But ole Mar-
ter done notice himself dat* strange
etters been cornin', an' he know'd, too,
If ole Miss couldn't drink her coffee
|$uthin' mus' be de matter, an' he ax
What it were. Every body wuz so
frightened dat da couldn't speak an'
ole Marster axed ag'in, an' speak so
sharp dat Miss Virginia stood right up
In* tole him all. An' when she see dat
pok come over his face, like he gwine
jlrap dade, she run to him an' put her
rms 'roun' his neck, an' cry an' beg
im not to take it so hard, an' to for-
ive her.
"He groaned a long time, an' den he
jade he done have to stan' a heep uv
rouble, but dis wuz de wuss uv all.
)en he put his han' on her hade an'
issed her, and sade dat dis were a ter-
rible shock, but da gwine furgit all
>out it an' never mention it no mo'.
»ut when she shake her hade an' don'
speak, he pushed her frum him, an' he
blame ole Miss an' rage an' carry on
so dat me an' Tilly run an' hide.
"Miss Virginia stood like a rock
'g'inst de whole family. She done allurs
had her own way, an' she wuz boun' to
have it now. When ole Marster hyrd
dat she done took Tilly wid her an' met
de captain mo' dan once in some exclu-
sive place, I cert'n'y wuz sorry fur him.
He couldn't stan' it no longer, an' he
locked Miss Virginia up in her room
an' wouldn't let Tilly go nigh her, nor
'low ole Miss to let me take her nuthin'
to eat but what he put on de plate. An'
he 'clare nobody shouldn't speek to her
till she promise dat she wouldn't see da
captain no mo'.
"I know'd, an' ole Miss did, too, dat
Tilly wuz sendin' up things to eat in a
basket dat wuz tied to a string an' went
up an' down frum her winder wid let-
ters. But nobody didn't say nuthin',
an' bime by things took a turn
"It wuz gittin' nigh 'lection time, an'
ole Marster had to go down in de
county to vote. He allurs started early
in de mornin' an' didn't git back till
night — every body know'd dat; an'
when da day come an' he done rode
away, Miss Virginia called to her
mother to come to de do', kaze she got
suthin' to say to her. Den she told ole
Miss dat she gwine off to git married
dat very day. Dat de plans all done
made an' she wuz 'spectin' de carnage
to come fur her any minute.
"Ole Miss was so frustrated dat it
took some time fur her to collec' her-
self, an' den she say she ain' gwine to
have nuthin' to do wid it ; dat ole Mar-
ster gwine put de whole blame on her.
So she ordered de kerrige an' took de
res' uv de fam'ly an' Sally Ann to spen'
de day wid her cousin. Da had no mo'
dan driv' out uv sight when Miss Vir-
ginia sade : 'I see dus' 'way up de road
an' I think da is comin'. Tell Peter an'
Jackson to bring de long ladder an' put
it up to de winder, so I ken come
down.' When da com erunnin' wid it,
Peter sade:
" 'Oh ! Miss Virginia, what ole Mar-
ster gwine say if all we put it up
dyah?'
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NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
1 'Don't tech it den/ she answer ; 'lay
it down right dyah. I ain't gwine to
bring trouble on nobody else.'
"By dis time de kerrige done dash up
to de gate wid de horses all in a foam,
an' a tall, slim young man dat I know'd
wuz de captain jumped out an' run un-
der de winder an' ax, 'Is yo' ready?'
an' she say, 'Yes, I is ; put up de ladder
an' I will come down.'
"He called de coachman an' da put
de ladder up, an' he went up hisself an'
helped her down jes' as tender as if she
had been a baby. While he wuz put-
tin' her in de kerrige an' gittin' in his-
self, de coachman rushed de trunk
down de ladder, an' 'fo' yo' could take
yo' bref da wuz gone, tearin' down de
road, wid Tilly an' her ban' box settin'
up in front wid de coachman.
"We wuz 'fraid to throw rice or ole
shoes after urn, but when Miss Vir-
ginia looked frum de winder an' waved
her han'k'chief we took off our ap'ons
an' hats an' waved um an' called,
'Good-bye, Miss Virginia ! De Lord
bless yo', honey ! Good-bye!'
"Dyah wan' no need uv um rushin'
so, kaze dyah wan' nobody to chase
after um, an' da mus' hev got half-way
to Washin'ton 'fo' ole Marster done
cas' his fuss vote or take his fuss dram ;
an' it were 'way off yonder todes night
'fo' he come home.
"Ole Miss done make sure dat she
wan' gwine git dyah fuss, an' it were a
blessin' dat she let de storm bus' 'fo'
she did, fur ole Marster wuz mos'
'stracted out uv his senses.
"As de days went by he quieted
down an' gived up, jes' like people
'bleged to do when da done bury dyah
dade. He jes' sot still an' read de paper
an' his hade turned white. It was jest
de same wid de res' uv us, but we
didn't make no complaint. It wan't
dat we minded so much she had runned
off an' 'loped to git married, kaze dat
wuz nachral 'nough wid all we clown
ole home; de young people wuz con-
stant vanquishin' away when dyah
wan't no 'jection raised 'ceptin' dat de
young man wuz a little wile or suthin' ;
an' den come a letter sayin' da done
got married. Da wuz allurs soon back
!
treated wid love an'
home ag'in an
happiness.
"But dis heah.case uv Miss Virginia
wuz 'tireiy indifferent. It wan't only
dat de man wuz a total stranger, but he
had been a solger fightin' on de yuther
side, an' it wan't nach'al fur none uv
our family to countenance him, nor see
no good in him, even if he had been
lined wid gold ; but, 'stead uv dat, we
hyrd dat he didn't have nuthin' but a
half-pay office under de guv'ment, an'
it wan' no mo' dan a year 'fo' some-
body bring de word dat he done los'
even dat, kaze he was sick.
"Den de news come dat he had con-
sumption an' wuz gittin' wusser an'
wusser, an' dat da wuz as po' as a
church mouse. Ole Miss 'clare she
ain' goin' stan' it no longer, wid Miss
Virginia starvin' an' she 'bleged to
speak to ole Marster. But when ole
Marster foun' out what she wuz leadin'
up to, he wave his han' an' turn away.
"Bime by a ominous letter bedout no
name to it come to ole Miss, sayin' de
captain wuz dade an' Miss Virginia
wuz mos' dade, too.
"Ole Miss took dat letter an' put it \j
in ole Marster's han', an' when he done
read it he put it on de table an' laid his
white hade down on it, an' yo' could
see him shake all over. Den he sade to I
ole Miss, 'I gwine dyah an' bring her-
home,' an' he started off dat very day;
an' when da come back he had to take
her out de kerrige in his arms an' lay
her on her own bade. She wuz so re-
duced to nuthin' dat we didn't know
her fur Miss Virginia. She smiled
when she looked 'roun' de room an'
seed us all dyah, an' sade she wuz so
happy in her married life till sorrowjr -.
come ; an' now dat she done seed us all
once mo', she was wuz ready to die,
too. Dat made us turn our hades an'
go out de room- — all but ole Marster,
an' I hyrd him say :
" 'Don' yo' talk dat way, kaze in a
little while we is gwine have yo' out in
de sunshine.' Sure 'nough, it wan' long) I
'fo' she wuz settin' out do's under dejj
big trees in de easy Morrison cheir, an]
ole Marster wuz 'side her radin' suthin
dat would mak her laugh an' singin' dc
"CHILE TROUBLE"
90
ole huntin' songs ; likewise he would
take his fiddle out dyah, an' he could
make it ring, too, playin' 'Dandy Jim'
an' 'Ole Dan Tucker' wid sich a hasty
turn in de corner uv de chime dat yo'
would almos' think it were my Uncle
Moses, who wuz a nachral-born fiddler,
an 'no mistake.
"Ole Miss would sometimes take her
knittin' out dyah, too ; but she w r uz so
broken down dat she couldn't stan'
nUthin'. All we know'd well 'nough dat
Miss Virginia done made up her min'
she wan' gwine to stay heah. Every
day she got weaker an' weaker ; she
didn't 'pear to care no mo' fur de rose
dat Miss 'Lizabeth fotched her, an' de
chillun had to play quiet.
"But old Marster kep' on readin' an'
singin' an' playin' when he wuz wid
her, 'ceptin' he did it eas}^ now ; but
when he lef her an' come in de house
he pulled down de blinds an' laid down
on his face on de sofa.
"One mornin' (it was de las' day, an'
she done tole us so), when she lay back
in de big cheir wid de sun makin' long
shaders, an' de birds singin', she called
fur us all an' sade she wuz mos' home ;
dat she been mighty happy in dis worl',
but she gwine be happier in de yuther
one. Dat she wan' 'fraid to cross de
river kaze Jesus wuz wid her, an' she
gwine wait fur all we on de yuther
shore. Den she couldn't say no mo',
an' she shet her eyes herself an' wuz
^one."
Mammy paused here to heave a deep
ign ; then went on :
"Yes ! my ole Marster had a heap uv
rouble, but he wan' de onliest one
vhose cup done brim over, 'specially
rouble 'bout chillun ; I done had some
sperience myself, like my mother befo'
ne.
"She had thirteen chillun an' mostly
very one uv um wuz infants at de
ame time; an' when de las' one come
e Miss sade she done search an'
earch an' couldn't find no mo' names,
n' she sade dat my mother done have
10' dan her share already, an' dat dis
ne mus' be called Lastly.
"Every body know'd dat thirteen
uz a unlucky number, an' da didn't
'low fur Lastly to live de fuss year out ;
but she kep' on an' grow'd up in spite
uv all de 'zasters she wuz subjec' to,
but which never overtook her. We wuz
allurs 'spectin' dat Lastly would fall
out de cherry tree an' brake her neck,
or git drowned in de branch, or dat de
rattlesnake would bite her, or suthin'
else would bring her to a timely en' ;
an' when I corned up heah wid Miss
Car'line I kep' sayin' to myself:
" 'Lastly done already live to a good
middlin' age an' she has allurs been
right smart an' well, but sometime
dyah is sure to come a change, an' I
ain't gwine be surprised if I outlives
her, to heah some day dat she has been
took wid some kine uv 'zease an' is
gone.'
"Sure 'nough, I hadn't been up hyah
mo' dan ten years 'fo' de Lord in his
mercy thought bes' to cut her off in her
prime, an' my sister Rosetta sont a let-
ter to say dat Lastly done lef a orphan-
less little girl, jes' lackin' eight years
an' one month, an' she sade dat al-
though she had ten chillun in her own
light she wuz willin' to add one mo' to
de lis', 'vidin' de res' uv de 'lations
would sen' in a perscription fur to sup-
port her. I cultivated dat question
over an' over in my mine as to what
wuz bes' to do fur Dinah Matildy.
"Yo' see, dis chile wuz named after
both me an' Tilly, so in case we wuz to
die she would be "a livin' monument.
When my mine got settled I sont word
to Sister Rosetta dat I didn't feel testi-
fied in prescribin' fur Dinah Matildy,
fur de reason dat ever since death de-
livered me from my first husband I
had 'cided never to enter into no mo'
partnerships, an' I wan' willin' to do
nuthin' under de accusin' circumstances
but to take de whole uv de chile.
"My sister Rosetta an' Miss 'Liz'beth
both sont word dat Dinah Matildah
was bes' off where she were, Miss Car'-
line jined in wid um, an' 'low we had
'nuf chillun in de house now an'
couldn't have no mo'. I sade I wuz
goin' to git some good 'oman to take
keer uv her fur me, an' sen' her to day
school an' Sunday school, an' -raise her
up to be a fust class 'oman. I 'quired
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NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
'roun', an' Mrs. Benson, who lived
down in de village, sade she wuz jes'
what she wanted to wait on de table an'
de do' bell, an' dat she would sen' her
to school, too.
"Miss Car'line didn't raise no second
'jection, so I sont de ticket an' for-
warded word fur urn to sen' her by ex-
press, wid an attachment on her uv a
card, fastened wid her name an* des-
titution. When I hyrd she wuz on de
way, an' she didn't come at de 'p'inted
time, I went right into Boston an'
asked de chief in de depot why de chile
had not been delivered. He sade dat
an accidental had tracked de car on de
side, but da wuz all right now an' had
started ag'in, an' wuz liable to come
any minute. While he wuz tellin' me
dis de train come bus'in in de station.
When we foun' dat chile she wuz layin'
down on de seat, too sick to hole her
hade up. All 'roun' her wuz piled up
bags an' bags uv cakes an' doughnuts
an' 'nannas an' candy, an' I don' know
what all.
"Dyah wuz a kine 'oman wid her,
who tole me dat ev'ry body in de car
noticed dat she wuz plackarded, an' da
'peared like da wuz 'fraid she would
git lonesome an' hungry an' kep'
s'plyin' her wid things, an' she had
been eatin' ever since de fuss day she
started, an' nobody didn't let her res'
day or night. She sade, too, dat I ou^ht
to be thankful dat dyah wuz any life
lei' in her, an' I better take her home
soon as I could, 'fo' she die on my
han's.
"I tole de lady dat she highly recom-
mended herself to me, an' I wuz gwine
to pray fur her dat she might hev one
mo' star added to her crown. Dis
prayer wuz likewise extended to de po-
liceman who helped me to git her home
'fo' she died, an' I wuz mo' dan a week,
'sisted by de whole. family, added to de
doctor, gittin' dat chile's stomach
qualified and settled in de right place.
When she got well I sade to her:
' 'De Lord is done raised *yo' frum
a bed uv woe an' set yo' on yo' feet
ag'in ; he done 'liver yo' frum de lion's
mouf an' de fiery furnace to give him
thanks. Kneel down dyah an' lem me
heah yo' pray!' She couldn't say a
word. I call Miss Car'line an' tole her
how I had weighed de chile in de bal-
ance an' foun' her wantin' Miss Car'-
line 'scused her an' sade de chile wuz
skeered. I didn't wan' to 'cept dat
'pology, kaze every las' one uv our
chillun can speak sunthin' at de fuss
call. When I took de twinzes to class
meetin' at my church an' ax de preacher
fur de privilege uv lettin' um give in
dyah testimony, he tole me he wuz
struck speachless wid 'mazement when
Sweety an' Honey stood up an' sade, 'I
had a little poney!' No wonder he
wuz ! kaze our chillun ain't no dum-
mies, an' we don' let um keep dyah
light conceiled under a bushel, but is
allurs pinetin' fur um to go up higher,
an' dat's what I wanted to 'press on de
mine uv Dinah Matildy.
"After I done learn her to pray, I
made her set down every day an' tole
her jes' like I tells our chillun: 'Yo is
goin' to school an' learn frum de books,
but yo' ain't gwine to fine it easy. De
Lord planted de tree uv knowledge
hisself and' put de fruit 'way up on de
top, so yo' got to climb to git it. Yo'
wants de bes', too, dat is hard to pull
off, an' not dat what falls on de groun'
an' any body ken pick up.' But Dinah
Matildy kep' cryin' and 'clarin' dat she
didn't wan' to clime no trees but dem
in de orchard down ole home.
"After she went to Mrs. Benson's
she cheered up some, an' 'peared to
take right smart intrus' in de school;
but bime by, when I 'gin to question
her 'bout de condition uv her soul, I
foun' out dat Mrs. Benson wuz learnin'
her prayers out de book, an' I couldn't
stan' dat an' went right over dyah an'
brought her home. Mrs. Benson tried)
to argufy wid me an' ax, 'Does yo' sayl
de prayer, "Our Father"'? I answer,;
'Curtny I dose.' Den she say, 'De Lord
made dat prayer fur yo' and yo' gits it
out a book; de prayer yo' preacher
makes fur yo' ain't no mo' yourn dan
dese!' But I tole her dat . I didn't,
b'lieve in no prayer dat didn't come
frum de spontaneous soul.
"But it didn't 'pear like trouble wid
dat chile wuz ever gwine cease, fur it
'CHILE TROUBLE"
101
wan' six months after I got her settled
in another good home when I went to
see how she w r as gittin' 'long an' foun'
out dat she wan' gwine to neither
church nor school — jes' stayin' home
rockin' de cradle an' takin' keer uv de
yuther chillun an' runnin' erran's, till
she wuz so thin dat she wuz de same
as a whippo'will. De lady sade dat
Dinah Matildy didn't wan' to go to
school kaze de chillun laughed at her
bein' so big in de infantry class, an' da
wouldn't call her Dinah Matildy, but
gived her de nickle name uv Dinny,
fur short, an' so she thought it bes' to
hev her read to her nights. Wuss dan
dat, Dinah Matildy wan' gwine to no
church bekaze de 'oman wuz a special-
ist in 'ligeon, an' didn't have to 'pend
on nuthin' to help her gain de victory ;
she jes' had to set down an' 'clare she
gwine do suthin' an' she did it bedout
movin' ; an' she tole Dinah Matildy dat
she would do mos' uv de prayin' fur
her herself, an' all dat Dinah Matildy
had to do wuz to think it out at de
'p'inted time ; an' she sade it didn't
make no difference where she were,
dyah mines would jine an' testify to-
gether jes' de same as if da wuz side
an' side, an' dat da could battle 'g'inst
sickness an' health an' keep on livin'
an' 'joyin' daselves, an' nuthin' wan'
gwine 'sturb um no mo'.
"When dat lady tried to 'splain all
dis to me, an' sade she wuz a preacher
uv de word an' had been glorified, I
wuz so 'mazed dat I wuz struck dumb
wid silence, an' kep' saying to myself,
'When yo' speaks, don' be hasty; let
yo' answer be yea ! yea ! nay ! nay !'
When I had cultivated my mine to a
easy state I sade to her :
u 'I is dis chile's mother an' likewise
her father, an' stands 'sponsible fur
her, so dat I feels obligated to 'nounce
dat she is certny on de broad road to
distruction. I don' trus' nobody to
come twix' me an' my maker, kaze we
can allers settle it bes' twix' ourselves,
an' don' want no interference frum out-
siders dat keep patchin' up one thing
an' another, callin' it 'ligeon an' makin'
it so easy fur yo' to git to heaven dat
yo' ain't even got to knock at de do',
fur de reason dat de angel dat usually
stands dyah keepin' guard wid de
flamin' sword an' axes fur yo' testi-
mony has done 'sert his pos', an' all yo'
got to do now is to walk in an' take yo'
seat bedout even a weddin' garment on.'
"I tole her dat I felt convicted dat I
hadn't foun' out befo' dat she wuz
standin' on sich uncertain groun'; dat
Dinah Matildy done already jepordize
her soul, an' I wuz jestified in takin'
her home' mediate, fo' de seed she done
sow had time to bear fruit to de chile's
everlastin' condemnation:
"Heah I wuz ag'in wid de chile on
my han's, an' I wuz so 'sturbed in my
mine dat I couldn't sleep night nor
day; an' I 'gin to think dat I certny
gwine loose my seat in heaven if
suthin' wan' done soon, an' de onliest
thing I could 'side on wuz to lay it all
'fo' de Lord in prayer, an' tell him dat
although I done bring de case uv dis
chile befo' him so many times, I know'd
he would 'scuse me fur comin' ag'in
kaze de Bible done tole us dat his pa-
tience wan' never 'zausted, an' I begged
him to settle de vexatious subjec'.
"Sure 'nough, dat very night, while I
lay dyah thinkin' 'bout it, de answer
come right befo' me, an' it sade, 'Don'
yo' hoi' on to dat chile no longer; give
her up an' sen' her where she belongs ;
leastwise yo' gwine to lose all de 'ligeon
yo'got.'
"Next day I tole Miss Car'line 'bout
it, an' she 'greed wid me dat I done
been a faithful steward and done de
bes' I could, an' de onliest thing now
wuz to sen' Dinah Matildy back down
ole home. Didn't nobody veject, an'
Dinah Matildy wuz glad 'nough to go ;
an' when I got her ready I had a plack-
ard writ an' tacked on to her, sayin' :
" 'Dis ain't no po' chile ; she is got
fren's bof north an' south, an' is goin'
down ole home. She is s'plied wid
every convenience an' plenty to eat, so
please don' nobody add nuthin' to her ;
kaze if you do, it gwine bring her to
pain an' sorrow an' likewise her fren's,
as de pas' done testify; so please 'scuse
her/
"It wan' long 'fo' I had a chance to
thank de Lord fur what I had done. De
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NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
news come frum down ole home rial a
great revival wuz in opperation, an'
Dinah Matildy was de fuss one dat
sought de mourners' bench ; an' al-
though it kep' all de preachers an' dea-
cons busy two whole days an' nights
prayin' fur her, she got through at las',
and wuz now changed frum herself to a
totally indifferent person. So I thanked
de Lord ag'in an' washed her off my
!• an's. Dis is why I sade dyah wan' no
trouble like chile trouble, whether it
come to yo' wid de dade or de livin'.
People talk 'bout dis trouble an' dat
trouble, an' mostly en's by 'clairin' dat
marryin' is de wus uv all ; but 'speri-
ence done show me dat dyah ain't
nuthin' like chile trouble ; husban'
trouble dint' no tech to it. Yo' chile is
yo' own, an' if dat chile go astray, yo'
claims him jes' de same as yourn; but
da tells me dat yo' husband ain't no real
'lation to yo' nohow, an' dat mus' be de
reason why yo' don' mine sometimes
gittin' shed uv him 'tirely. When my
fuss husban' died I done my juty by
him an' kep' on deep mournin' fur over
a year, which wuz mo' dan he deserved,
kaze he wan' allurs what he wuz 'lotted
out to be ; but yo' know it is mostly
allurs dat way — if da ain't one thing, da
is another, an' dat is what makes de
trouble. How many times is I been
married? Laws, chile, I ain't never
been married but oncet ! I ain't but one
widder ! An' ever since I wuz cast
asunder I has never thought it bes' to
obligate myself ag'in. 'Tain't dat I
ain't had plenty uv chances to change
my fuss lawful name ; no, indeed ! It
were jes' las' winter dat Brother Hains
uv de fuss Baptis' keep comin' out heah
from Boston, tellin' me 'bout his great
possessions an' hintin' like he wan' me
to share um, when he sont me a letter
jes' 'bout Valentine's Day wid suthin'
like dis :
" 'Deares' 'Sociate : When yo' re-
ceives dis epistle I hope yo' eyes will
forever flow, not wid sorrow, but wid
joy.' Honey ; clared dat he gwine git
me a valentine to sen' him an' ax me
fur de money ; I tole Honey dat he wan'
worth but five cents, but he 'sisted on
ten. When he come home from school
dat night, Honey sade he bought candy
wid de money, kaze he 'cided dat
Brother Hains wan' worth nary cent. I
told him I know'd dat, 'specially since
I done learn dat he had overgrown
daughters an' a stepmother-in-law livin'
wid him.
MIDNIGHT
Noon by the shortened shadows at my feet,
Noon by the tolling bells in yonder tower, —
And yet I know full well it is the midnight hour !
'Tis midnight and from musky climes remote
The slow-winged zephyrs steal an opiate breath
And all the halls of life are hung with sable death.
I had not thought our mortal parts contained
So still a place, a chamber so remote,
That one should pace the street and hear its strident note
Less than the drippings of Adullah's cave,
Or as the highest branches of the tree,
Or as a muffled oar afar upon the sea: —
A folded page, a tiny crest of gold,
A word or two — alas what little things
Can still the heart, close-pressed amid the strings !
The Tragic in the Life of Aaron Burr
By ROBERT N. REEVES
THERE is no character in Ameri-
can political history more mys-
terious, more tragic, and, for
those very reasons, more fascinating
than that of Aaron Burr.
Had Burr died at the close of the
American Revolution, there would have
been no element of mystery in his ca-
reer to baffle inquiring minds. As a
soldier he would have taken his place
in history as one of the bravest of
American patriots. His wonderful
power to command, so ably exhibited
in the long march on Quebec ; his in-
difference to fatigue and hunger; his
fortitude in sharing the privations of
his soldiers ; his courage in battle, as
when under the heights of Quebec he
seized the fallen body of General Mont-
gomery and bore that dying patriot on
his shoulder down the snow-covered
slopes, amidst a hail of British grape-
shot, entitles him to rank as a hero of
the type of Anthony Wayne and Ethan
Allen. Aaron Burr came out of the
Revolutionary War, said sturdy John
Adams, "with the character of a knight,
without fear and an able officer."
The mysterious part of Burr's life —
the part that is replete with vicissi-
tudes, misfortune, tragedy and ill-con-
trived schemes that border close to
treason — began after his election to the
vice-presidency.
In 1801 Burr was Vice-President of
the United States, having been elected
to that office after a spirited contest
with Jefferson for the presidency. To
all appearances, his position was one to
be envied.
There was but one note of discord in
Burr's otherwise harmonious existence,
and that was the continued hostility of
Alexander Hamilton. Ever since they
had served together as aides on General
Washington's staff, Burr and Hamilton
had shown an ever-increasing jealousy
and bitterness toward each other. Dur-
ing the years that Burr was Vice-Presi-
dent this enmity reached its height.
Party strife was bitter in those days.
Political quarrels were carried into pri-
vate life. It was the era of ill-feeling,
and in the bosoms of no two men was
this spirit nourished and kept alive
with such intensity as in Burr and
Hamilton. Burr, in his quiet, secretive
way, did all he could to undermine the
political ambitions of Hamilton, and
Hamilton, by open, vehement speech
and voluminous correspondence, full of
strong epithets, sought at every- op-
portunity to prejudice the public mind
against Burr.
At last, Burr, stung to the quick, set
about to do the deed that was to be the
cause of all his subsequent misfortunes.
In a letter so worded that Hamilton
could not escape, save by abject apol-
ogy, he challenged him to a duel.
Though opposed to duelling (for a fa-
vorite son of his had been killed in a
duel fought a short time before), Ham-
ilton was too lofty-minded to apologize
and too courageous to refuse the chal-
lenge. He therefore -reluctantly ac-
cepted it. The tragedy that followed
is too familiar to dwell upon. July 11,
1804, at sunrise, in the woods of Wee-
hawken, near the banks of the Hudson,
they met. At the command of Pendle-
ton, one of the seconds, Burr raised his
pistol, took deliberate aim and fired.
Hamilton instantly sprang convulsively
upward, reeled a little, discharged his
pistol involuntarily into the airand then
fell forward, mortally wounded. I A few
days later he was dead, and the nation
had lost a brilliant and popular states-
man and Burr had wrought his own ruin.
103
104
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
The sudden and tragic death of Ham-
ilton produced a universal feeling of
sympathy and sorrow, and brought
down upon Burr's head a storm of con-
demnation. When the correspondence
that passed between Burr and Hamil-
ton prior to the duel was published,
the public, for the most part, felt that
Hamilton had been trapped to his
death. The friends of Burr and the
enemies of Hamilton alike deprecated
the act.
To escape the storm of disapproval
about him, Burr fled stealthily by sea to
Georgia. Here, where the custom of
duelling was still highly regarded, and
where Hamilton was not so well
known, the Vice-President was soon
transformed from a fugitive from jus-
tice into an exiled hero. After a month's
stay, during which time he was mostly
occupied in attending fetes and recep-
tions, he returned to Washington to
take his place at the head of the Sen-
ate, welcome his successor, De Witt
Clinton, and say farewell to his fellow-
senators. This was his last appear-
ance upon the political stage, and a pa-
thetic one it must have been to a man
of Burr's talents and sensibility. It is
said that his farewell address, for grace,
depth of thought and affecting leave-
taking, is one of the most impressive
ever delivered in the Senate.
At this time New York, Pennsyl-
vania, Virginia and the New England
States were, politically, the nation; and
as Burr had now lost his popularity in
these states, he turned his eyes toward
the West. Two years before, the gov-
ernment had purchased Louisiana from
France. This opened up the mouth of
the Mississippi to the settlers in the
Southwest, who for years had been
forced to pay heavy tribute to Spain,
who held the mouth of the river. The
tardiness of the government in bring-
ing Spain to terms created much dis-
satisfaction amongst the people of the
Southwest. There was, besides, much
dissatisfaction amongst the people of
Mexico, who chafed beneath the Span-
ish yoke. To this section of the coun-
try Burr now eagerly directed his
steps.
On his voyage down the Ohio River
he stopped at an island about three
hundred miles above Cincinnati, the
home of the now historic Harman Blen-
nerhassett, an eccentric, wealthy Irish-
man, who had spent many years and a
fortune in carving for himself out of
the wilds of nature a home of remark-
able beauty. Charmed by the magnifi-
cence of the island, Burr determined to
make himself acquainted with its
owner. He found Blennerhassett sur-
rounded by books, paintings, statuary,
instruments of science and all the evi-
dences of intellect and refinement.
Captivated by all this, he welcomed
the invitation of his host to remain i
over night, and his host, captivated in
turn by the fame, intelligence and vi-
vacity of his guest, formed for him a '
friendship which in an incredibly short
time was to result in the loss of honor,
fortune and friends. To Burr this
chance visit meant much ; but to Blen-
nerhassett it meant everything.
Continuing his venturesome voyage,
Burr floated down the Mississippi until
he came to New Orleans, where a great
reception awaited him, and where for j
nearly three weeks he was treated like
a conqueror. No doubt his popularity f
in this section of the country had its
effect in determining his future ac-
dons. His mind teemed with schemes j
for the independence of Mexico, and he!
looked about for assistance. Stationed!
on the borders of the Spanish prov-
inces, and intrusted with the defence
of the southern frontier, was General
James Wilkinson, then general-in-chief
of the armies of the United States, with!
whom Burr had fought in the Revo-|
lutionary War. To him Burr confided 1
his project, and, from all that can bej
learned, Wilkinson seems to havei
eagerly become a party to it.
In the winter of 1805-1806 Burr was!
back in Washington, his mind now. set
on the conquest of Mexico. In a fewj
months he gathered about him hun-:
dreds of people who were willing to
risk their lives and their fortunes inj
such an expedition. Not only did he
recruit a small army from the hardy
inhabitants of Kentucky, Tennessee
THE TRAGIC IN THE LIFE OF AARON BURR
105
Aaron Burr
and neighboring states, but he also ob-
tained the aid and support of such men
of wealth and influence as Marinus
Willett, afterward mayor of New York;
General Dayton, General Adair, Gen-
eral Dupiester, and even General An-
drew Jackson. To Harman Blenner-
hassett, Burr presented the glory of
conquest so vividly that that gentle-
man gave up everything to join the in-
jvading forces. Of all the people
throughout the country whom Burr
succeeded in aiding him, few knew his
real plans. They knew that Spain had
ruled tyrannically over Mexico, and that
Burr, in some way or other, was to as-
sist the Mexicans to obtain their inde-
pendence. Only to a very few did Burr
make known the fact that he contem-
plated something far more ambitious.
In letters which he wrote in cipher to
General Wilkinson and to Blennerhas-
106
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
sett he revealed his real design. It was
to conquer Mexico from the Spaniards,
place himself at the head of the new
government as emperor, and then leave
it to the states of the. West to decide
whether they would go into the Union
or become a part of his new govern-
ment.
The government, however, began to
scent danger, and a United States dis-
trict attorney, located at Frankfort,
Ky., seized the opportunity to gain
fame for himself by demanding that
Burr appear before the court in that
district and answer to the charge of
being engaged in an enterprise con-
trary to the laws of the United States.
To his surprise, Burr answered the
summons fearlessly, came to Frankfort
with his counsel, Henry Clay, and left
the court completely victorious, to re-
turn again to the Southwest and con-
tinue operations.
His victory, however, was short-
lived. General Wilkinson, becoming
alarmed at the possible consequences
likely to follow an attempt to revolu-
tionize Mexico, suddenly changed front
and dispatched a messenger to Presi-
dent Jefferson, revealing everything.
The President, fearing a revolt of the
W r estern states, at once issued a procla-
mation and suspended the writ of ha-
beas corpus. Instantly the entire coun-
try was aroused to a high pitch of ex-
citement at Burr's disloyalty to the
Union. A reward of two thousand dol-
lars was offered for his arrest. He was
soon captured, and after a tedious and
perilous march through the swamps
and wildernesses of the Southern states,
brought to Richmond, Va., and placed
in jail.
Most men would have been disheart-
ened by this sudden change of affairs
for the worse. Burr, on the contrary,
maintained the same easy, genial and
convincing manner that made people
admire him in spite of themselves.
"I hope sir," said his jailer, "that it
would not be disagreeable to you if I
should lock the door after dark."
"By no means," calmly replied Burr;
"I should prefer it, to keep out in-
truders."
His only apprehension at this time
seems to have been that the. news of his
arrest and imprisonment would unduly
excite his daughter Theodosia, the one
great object of his affections.
On May 22, 1807, Burr was placed on
trial for treason before Chief Justice
Marshall. Then began one of the most
remarkable trials in the history of this
Country. Never before had a greater
array of legal talent or a more distin-
guished throng of spectators appeared
in an American court-room. William
Wirt was there, John Randolph. Ed-
mund Randolph, Luther Martin, An-
drew Jackson, Washington Irving,
Winfield Scott, and a host of Burr's
friends from New York. The trial
lasted all summer and ended in an ac-
quittal, as there was no conclusive evi-
dence that Burr intended to sever the
Western states from the Union.
Though acquitted of the charge of
treason, Burr was now ruined both in
fortune and in name. His home on
Richmond Hill, that historic mansion
overlooking the Hudson River, with
its wealth of books and art, had been
sold to satisfy his creditors ; his per-
son was still subject to imprisonment
for debt, and he was also liable to ar-
rest on a government indictment for a
misdemeanor. For several months
after his acquittal he remained con-
cealed in New York to prevent further
prosecution. While his expedition for
Mexican independence had thus far
proven a disastrous failure, he by no
means abandoned the project, but re-
solved to visit Europe and seek foreign
aid. Bidding an affectionate farewell
to Theodosia, and intrusting to her his
private papers and the collection of
such debts as were owing him, which
were in a measure to provide for his
maintenance while abroad, he secretly
left New York and made his way to
Nova Scotia, where he boarded a Brit-
ish mail packet, and under the name of
G. H. Edwards sailed for England
On arriving in England he was
greeted with news that for the time
completely shattered his hopes of se-
curing the aid of either England or
France, the two nations from whom he
THE TRAGIC IN THE LIFE OF AARON BURR
107
most expected it. Two clays before his
arrival Joseph Bonaparte had marched
into Madrid and been proclaimed King
of Spain; and England, so hostile to
Napoleon, at once took the part of the
dethroned king. There was, therefore,
slight chance that England would in
any way assist Burr in a scheme detri-
mental to the Spaniards, nor could he
hope that Napoleon would listen to any
overtures toward the independence of
a country that was part of a nation he
had conquered. The indefatigable
Burr, nevertheless, sought out George
Canning, Lord Castlereagh and other
British officials, before whom he laid
his plans, but received in return not the
slightest encouragement.
While the government frowned upon
him, British society, on the other hand,
received him with open arms. He was
the lion of the drawing room, the ban-
quet table and the platform. His
bravery as a soldier, his former posi-
tion as Vice-President, his duel with
Hamilton, his Mexican expedition and
his sensational trial, together with his
magnetic personality and wonderful
conversational powers, made him an
object of interest and respect wherever
he went. He was welcomed as a guest
by William Goodwin and Mary Wool-
stoncraft; by Jeremy Bentham, the
philosopher; Feseli, the painter, and by
such literary lights as Henry Macken-
zie, Charles Lamb and Sir Walter
Scott. William Cobbett was so im-
pressed with Burr's talents that he dis-
cussed seriously how the ex- Vice-Pres-
ident of the United States might be
made a member of the British Parlia-
ment.
In the midst of a season of gayety
in Edinburgh, Burr was informed by
friends that he must return at once to
London, as the government evinced
great distrust of him and was about to
take some active measures. Suspecting
that he was under surveillance, and
having a presentiment of impending
danger, he immediately on his return
to London packed up his papers, and
under the name of "Mr. Kirby," took
quarters in a cheap lodging-house.
About a week after his change of
residence four officers of the govern-
ment entered his room and infoimed
him that he was under arrest by virtue
of a warrant issued by the English
premier, Lord Liverpool — in other
words, he was a prisoner of state. His
trunks, containing all his papers, were
taken from him and he was detained as
a prisoner for three days. Then came a
polite note from Lord Liverpool, apol-
ogizing for the occurrence and in the
most diplomatic manner possible con-
veying to Burr the fact that his pres-
ence in Great Britain was embarrass-
ing to the government, and that he was
expected to leave its jurisdiction.
From England, Burr went to Swe-
den, where he remained five months.
Fearing the rigors of a Swedish winter,
he left that country and traveled leis-
urely toward France, enjoying every-
where the same social triumphs that
he had enjoyed in England and Scot-
land. In Germany he was warmly re-
ceived by Niebtihr, the historian, and
by Goethe, the latter entertaining him
for several evenings at his home in
Weimar. Learning that Napoleon was
considering the independence of Mex-
ico and the other Spanish colonies,
Burr hurried to France and sought out
the Emperor's ministers in an effort to
have an interview with the man who
was then the greatest power in the
world. He wrote lengthy letters ; he
waited in the ante-chamber of numer-
ous ministers, in the hope of securing
some encouragement. He sent a mes-
senger to Prince Talleyrand, who, of
all ministers, stood closest to the Em-
peror ; but that shrewd diplomat, whom
Burr had once toasted and feted at
Richmond Hill, sent back this reply:
"Say to Colonel Burr that I wili re-
ceive him to-morrow ; but tell him also
that General Hamilton's likeness al-
ways hangs over my mantel." It is
needless to say that Burr did not call.
In desperation he addressed a memo-
rial to the Emperor himself, praying
for an interview. But there came no
response from Napoleon. Disappointed
at the ill success of his efforts, he de-
cided to give up entirely his scheme for
the independence of Mexico and re-
108
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
turn to America. When he applied for
his passports he found to his great sur-
prise that these were denied him No
explanation was forthcoming, save that
he would not be permitted to leave the
country. It did not take Burr lone to
learn that there was a conspiracy
amongst certain American residents of
Paris not only to keep him in France,
but also to make his life there as mis-
erable as possible. It was agreed that
any American citizen who should con-
verse with or even salute him was to
be shunned in turn by his fellow-coun-
trymen. His mail, too, was inter-
cepted, and captains of incoming and
outgoing vessels were forbidden to de-
liver any letter or package to him, or
take any from him. He was to be
an exile in the fullest sense, of that
word.
Cut off from remittances from Amer-
ica, and with apparently no hope of re-
ceiving assistance in France, he soon
found himself in a serious predica-
ment. His finances were already at
their lowest, winter was approaching,
and his prospect of even existing was
gloomy. Yet he took his condition
philosophically, attributing it entirely
to the influence and machinations of
Talleyrand and the American ambas-
sador at Paris. "How sedate one is
with only three sous," he wrote in his
diary. He took quarters in the cheap-
est of lodging places, and purchased
only the absolute necessities of life,
often going without fire in order that
he might be able to purchase food
Extracts from his diary written dur-
ing this period indicate the privations
that he was forced to endure. Under
date of November 23, 1810, we find
this item : "Nothing from America,
and really I shall starve. Borrowed
three francs to-day. Four or five little
debts keep me in constant alarm." And
again, a few days later, he writes :
"Went at Denon's ; thought I might as
well go to vSt. Pelasgie; set off, but
recollected I owed the woman who sits
in the passage two sous for a segar, so
turned about to pursue my way by
Pont des Arts, which Avas within fifty
paces; remembered I had not where-
with to pay the toll, being two sous;
had to go all the way round by the
Pont Royal, more than half a mile "
His diary is filled with similar details,
and yet there is not to be found any-
where in it a single melancholy or dis-
consolate expression. Suspected and
watched by the French government os-
tracized by his own countrymen, with-
out occupation, money or friends, this
remarkable man continued cheerful,
firm and dignified. Amongst the Amer-
ican colonists in Paris, Burr soon dis-
covered a friend in the person of Ed-
ward Griswold, a former member of the
New York bar, who advanced him a
sum sufficient to meet his expenses,
and promised also to pay his passage to
America, provided a passport could be
obtained. A small portion of the money
thus advanced Burr laid aside for the
purposes intended by Griswold, but the
greater part he at once, with charac-
teristic generosity and imprudence in-
vested in expensive presents for Theo-
dosia and her son, "Gampillo."
He now changed the course of his so-
licitations. Instead of seeking Mexi-
can independence, he now sought after
his own. For months his days and
nights were spent in writing letters and
seeking audiences with ministers and
court officials in an almost vain effort
to secure the necessary passport. Again
he addressed a memorial to Napoleon,
eloquently setting forth his circum-
stances, but again there was no re-
sponse. At last Count Denon, who had
been with Napoleon in Egypt, and for
whom the Emperor had a profound re-
gard, learning of Burr's deplorable con-
dition, interceded in his behalf and se-
cured Napoleon's consent, and Burr
was permitted to quit France. In some
mysterious way, however, the pass-
port, which required the signatures of
various officials of the French govern-
ment, was lost or stolen before it
reached Burr, and he was force 1 to
wait patiently six long months before
he could obtain another one. When a
second one was finally made out a new
obstacle presented itself to prevent his
departure. He had during his enforced
stay in Paris existed only by the grace
THE TRAGIC IN THE LIFE OF AARON BURR
109
Thkodosia Burr
of numerous creditors who, as soon as
they learned that he intended to cuit
France, demanded that their accounts
against him be first settled. Burr again
appealed to Count Denon, who, not be-
ing a man of wealth himself, obtained
a loan for him from the rich Due de
Bassano.
Eagerly he took passage for America
on the "Vigilant." Wherever he had
gone and whatever misfortunes had be-
fallen him, he had always been sus-
tained by the encouraging letters of
Theodosia. In France the government
had prevented many of her letters from
reaching him. Her enforced silence
had been a source of great pain to him,
and it was with the anxious, hopeful
heart of an affectionate father that he
now turned his eyes oceanward. His
hopes, however, were mingled with
fresh fears. Difficulties had arisen be-
tween England and America, and Burr
realized that vesesls leaving France for
America were in danger of capture.
The "Vigilant" had scarcely reached
110
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
the high seas when it was seized by a
British frigate and taken to England
as a prize and Burr found himself an
unwilling inhabitant of a country from
which he had been driven two years
before. With but little money, he now
made his way to London, where he
eked out an existence by selling his
books and a collection of coins, and
pawning the presents that he had pur-
chased for his daughter and his grand-
son. He still continued to keep a
diary, and in it he records his London
experience.
"I find my appetite," he says, "in the
inverse ratio to my purse, and I now
conceive why the poor eat so much
when they can get it. Considering the
state of my finances, resolved to-day to
lay out the whole instantly in necessi-
ties, lest some folly or some beggar
should rob me of a shilling. Bought,
viz., half a pound of beef, eightpence;
a quarter of a pound of ham, sixpence ;
one pound of brown sugar, eightpence ;
two pounds of bread, eightpence ; ten
pounds of potatoes, fivepence ; having
left elevenpence, treated myself to a
pot of ale, eightpence; and now, with
threepence in my purse, have read the
second volume of 'Ida.' "
Upon this supply of food he lived for
eight days, cooking his own meals.
After months of this life he finally suc-
ceeded, by selling the balance of his
books and borrowing from friends, in
securing for a second time passage to
America. His life in London had been
one of extreme poverty and he left
England without regret, remarking
that he hoped never to visit that coun-
try again, unless at the head of fifty
thousand men.
It was not without danger to himself
that Burr landed in Boston. Govern-
ment prosecutions still hung over his
head, and numerous New York cred-
itors were anxiously waiting for the
opportunity to put him in jail for debt.
He, therefore, concealed his identity
from the public. Disguised with a wig,
false whiskers and strange garments,
and under the name of A. Arnot. he
took lodgings at a small boarding-
house kept by the widow of a sea cap-
tain near one of the Boston wharves.
But Burr was a man of great activity,
and this life of seclusion that he was
compelled to lead soon proved exceed-
ingly irksome. Throwing aside his dis-
guise, he went to New York, deter-
mined to risk the consequences. With
a capital of ten dollars and a large law
library which he borrowed from a re-
tired lawyer whom he had once be-
friended, he opened up a law office at
number 23 Nassau street, and boldly
announced that fact in the newspapers.
In earlier days he had been associated
with Hamilton and others in some of
New York's most important cases, and
his reputation as a successful advocate
had not been forgotten by the people
of New York. His office was soon
crowded with litigants, and within
twelve days he had been given retainer
fees amounting in all to over two thou-
sand dollars.
In high spirits he wrote to Theodo-
sia, telling her of his prosperity and his
hopeful future. To his cheerful letter
came a heartbreaking one from Theo-
dosia, stating that Gampillo, his grand-
son, of whom he was so passionately
fond, and for whom ' he had walked
the streets of London and Paris in
search of pretty trinkets, was dead.
The shock was a severe one to Burr,
and he never ceased to grie\e over the
child's sudden death. Then came the
great climax of Burr's unhappy, tragic
life. The grief of Theodosia over the
death of her only child was inconsol-
able. Her health failed her and her
mind became bewildered. The letters
she wrote to her father were full only
of grief and despair. At last, Burr,
thinking his influence would restore
her health and happiness, determined
to have her visit New York, and for,
that purpose he sent a physician* to
Charleston, S. C, to accompany her on
the journey. They embarked for New
York on a pilot boat, the Patriot It
was a staunch craft and was expected
to make the trip in five or six days.
Soon after departing, terrific storms
raged all along the Atlantic coast, and
the Patriot was never heard of again.
What was its fate or the fate of its pas-
THE TRAGIC IN THE LIFE OF AARON BURR
111
Alexander Hamilton
sengers was never learned. It was
often rumored that the boat had been
captured by pirates and the passengers
and crew murdered. Years afterward
two criminals executed at Norfolk Va.,
gave some substance. to this story by
declaring that they were members of a
band of "bankers" who had wrecked
and pillaged the Patriot.
When it was suggested to Burr that
the Patriot might have been captured
by pirates, and that Theodosia might
still be alive, he replied: "No, no; she
is indeed dead. Were she alive, all the
prisons in the world could not keep her
from her father." She was his realiza-
tion of an ideal woman, and all his
hopes and affections had been centered
in her and her child. Now that they
were dead, hope, happiness and ambi-
tion no doubt died within him. Yet to
the outside world he bore his heavy
affliction stoicly. He was not of a na-
ture to give way to open grief or de-
112
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
spair. It was a part of his creed to
make fortitude a virtue, and to take the
inevitable without a murmur. The seal
that he most frequently used upon his
correspondence was a rock, solitary in
the midst of a tempestuous sea, with
the inscription: "Nee flatu nee fluctu"
— neither by wind nor wave.
Often he was seen walking along the
Battery, gazing wistfully oceanward,
with the fond, faint hope perhaps that
some day his Theodosia would return ;
and passing pedestrians at night often
noticed an old man sitting silent and
alone before an old baise table in a
dusty law office. But Burr never
prated his sorrows to the world; never
gave voice to remorse or despair, either
by mouth or pen, and the world was
kept in ignorance of the thoughts that
must have surged -through the old
man's brain as he sat alone without a
wife, brother, sister, child or lineal de-
scendant and reviewed, perhaps, the
strange triumphs, tragedies and mis-
fortunes through which he had passed.
The # Patriot was lost "in 1813. For
twenty years after, Burr continued to
live in New York a life of unusual ac-
tivity. He was up at dawn and at his
office, working zealously in the inter-
ests of his numerous clients ; for de-
spite the odium still attached to his
name, his wonderful ability as an advo-
cate brought him many intricate cases
involving large sums, and enabling him
to make enormous fees, which were al-
most immediately eaten up by his nu-
merous creditors — -most of whom were
holders of Mexican debts — who had a
habit of falling upon him from time to
time with such vindictive fury that it
required all his ingenuity to keep out
of jail. What his creditors did not get,
charity obtained, for Burr was always
a lavish giver to those who appealed to
him for aid. His home was a rendez-
vous for men like Luther Martin and
Dr. Hosack, whom age or intemper-
ance had rendered unfit to continue the
battle of life. .
In 1883, while walking with a friend
down lower Broadway, Burr suddenly
came to a halt and sank heavily into
the arms of his friend. "What is the
matter, colonel?" asked the friend "I
don't know," was the reply; "some-
thing seems to be the matter; I can't
step. There's no feeling in my limbs."
That was the beginning of the end.
For three years Burr suffered uncom-
plainingly with paralysis. In the end
he was himself an object of charity.
September 14, 1836, at the age of
eighty, he breathed his last in a lodging
house, where he was sheltered by the
daughter of an army officer whom he
had once befriended.
HOOKER: ON BEACON HILL
By FREDERIC MERRILL PYKE
How grimly, in the grey, uncertain dawn,
He sits his shadowy, midnight steed,
Enwreathed in night-fog, but writ deep upon
His brow the daring of the dragon-breed,
Like some dark specter which the dreadful womb
Of night casts up into our peaceful morn,
Breathing of wars and fratricidal gloom.
Destiny incarnate, yet unborn,
He looks abroad, implacable and stern,
And steadfast, bending somber, sightless eyes
Beyond the baubles that our times display,
Into the glowing East as to discern,
Amid the splendors of its flaming skies,
His country's fortunes brightening with the day.
The External Feminine
By JANE ORTH
With the fast-disappearing bits of
snow from the bare, brown earth come
new flashes of color in the field of fash-
ion. Brown in many shades, green —
mainly in the emerald tones — queer
tones of red, some of them on the brick
and mahogany blend, and black, black,
black! Black in the dull taffetas, black
in the lustrous silks and crepes, and re-
lieved in many instances with slight
gilt trimming and dead-white some-
where ; at the throat, perhaps, or white
plumes in the black hat. Old rose, too,
will have its share of recognition
among spring and summer colors.
One new gown in a modiste's show-
room was of leaf-green crepe satin.
The long-pointed tunic fell over a skirt
formed of a side-pleated flounce. The
tunic, instead of falling loose from the
skirt, was caught to it in a slight puff.
The front of the tunic was embroidered
in black, dark green and blue:
The top of the bodice betrays the
drooping shoulder line, which is back
in fashion and likely to remain for sev-
eral seasons.
The sleeve had a short cap and cut
in one with the bodice. This, of course,
lengthens the shoulder effect.
The decolletage is shallow and
square, and there is an extra-wide band
of the embroidery around the figure,
under the arms and across the edge of
the short sleeve.
Another new model is of grass-green
mousseline over deep-cream satin the
skirt bordered with deep-green velvet.
A tunic that drips from shoulder to
hem on one side and is slashed up to
the hip on the other, of dotted-green
mousseline, bordered with braid em-
broidery in the same color.
Above the belt — there is sure to be a
belt these days — the material is drawn
up in folds to the shoulder, and in
wider folds around the arm to the el-
bow. A line of brown fur runs like a
mad hare from waist to shoulder, back,
and front. The rounded yoke with
stock is of darned net. The belt is of
turquoise blue velvet, drawn up to the
slightly high waist line in the back
Belts are essential this season; even
coats for street wear have them of the
material, or of soft patent leather.
Coats for motoring and driving have
heavily-stitched belts attached to the
foundations and lifted slightly above
the waist line.
The belts of the season are neither
simple nor inconspicuous. They are
resplendent and expensive, suggestive
of all the eastern gorgeousness They
are of metal net, heavily embroidered
in gold and silver, in crystals and
beads, taking the form of Egyptian
characters and symbols.
Many of the very dressy belts are
outlined at both edges with a band of
brilliant sequins in such colors as tur-
quoise, peacock green, blue, Burgundy
red and black. Others, massive and
heavy, are made of linked metal, set
with heavy stones and ending in huge
buckles. One cannot call them artis-
tic, but they are fashionable. They
can be prettily imitated with the heavy
metal mesh nets, which hold any
amount of embroidery worked out in
attractive designs. These fit into the
form with more grace than do the
metal ones. The stiff belts are no
longer worn. They were very well in
the days of slender waists, but now,
with the statistical twenty-eight-inch
measurement, well, they simply won't
do— that's all.
While patent leather is the pre-
ferred stock for leather belts, there is
"3
114
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
a great deal of saddle leather used.
There are two distinct ways of wearing
these belts, and the preferable one is
that which lifts the waist line without
destroying its curve. This is easily
managed by the strips through which
the belt runs.
The new sleeves are indeed radical,
to say the least. To see one sleeve
trimmed with lace and the other stud-
ded with jet and metal is sufficiently
eccentric, but a shivering shudder is
produced by the sight of one sleeve in
lace and pink chiffon and the other of
green velvet and marten fur !
The sleeve used chiefly in blouses
has its fullness confined in a cap ai: the
top, and is finished with a long, tight
cuff. Some of the very dressy blouses
have sleeves of a short kimono shape,
over a long, tucked cuff of transparent
fabric. The three-quarter sleeve is on
the way. It is seen in coats, house-
gowns, smart blouses and top wraps.
The sleeves of the new evening
gowns are very picturesque. A sort of
scarf drapery sleeve, which is very ef-
fective, made of metal tulle, embroid-
ered. This sleeve is put into the arm-
hole with folds at the under seam ; is
cut three-quarter length under the arm
and long enough to reach the hem of
the gown at back. This is finished
with galoon or satin In the majority
of ball dresses the sleeves are made of
the dress material and garnished with
lace, embroidery and jewels, or em-
broidery and lace.
About Tailor-Mades
The new tailor-mades have the usual
variety of novel touches that a change
of season is apt to bring. The shorten-
ing of the coats is no longer a rumor ;
the play on tunic draperies, collars and
cuffs handsomely embroidered with
silk and metallic threads, or blended
with embroidery and braid, with the
prevailing touch of gilt is endless.
Some of the coats close with a half-
dozen buttons, taking only the space,
however, occupied by three or four
larger ones in other garments. Few
buttons, seriously and in a matter-of-
fact style, down the front. More coats
with two and three buttons are seen
than of anything else In some of the
elaborate tailor-mades in which braid
is used lavishly, braid or cord frogs
close the front.
Linings are again ornamental In
tailor-mades they are otherwise severe,
as well as in elaborate ones ; the linings
are vivid — cherry-colored, green, rose,
pale tan, or they are polka-dotted or
figured.
Many coats are cut to slope from
the front toward the back, and other
fancy shapes are daily appearing. It
looks now as though little fancy coats
would be dressy coats. The skirt is
gored and plain.
As to belts, there is an endless play
on the ingenuity of the manufacturers.
A good many patent leather belts, or
belts in which patent leather and cloth
are combined, are seen with Russian
blouses, which are strong at this mo-
ment. In other cases the belts are
handsomely braided or gorgeously em-
broidered to match the collar or repeat
some color scheme in the rest of the
suit. Belts are in many cases in direct
contrast to the coat, and, it might be
added, are also contrasted with waist
and skirt in gowns.
Some of the three-piece suits are es-
pecially effective. An entirely new idea
is to have the upper part of the princess
gown of polka-dotted silk, while the
lower part below the hips is of cloth
like the coat. In such cases the lining
of the coat is like the upper part of the
gown.
Until early vacation time novelties
will continue to arrive in the suit de-
partments, and it is far from probable
that the majority of innovations or the
most interesting ones have as yet ap-
peared.
Truly Summer Things
There are »scores of filmy, white
frocks which, while following the gen-
eral lines of the lingerie models, include
no lingerie material at all — which are
built up of hand-embroidered white
silk mousseline and fine hand-embroid-
ered net and laces.
Irish lace, which showed signs of
THE EXTERNAL FEMININE
115
comes boldly to the
with such
frocks, but the Italian laces have ar. in-
creasing vogue, and where expense
need not be considered, real Venetian
plays' a considerable part in these su-
perb frocks of sheer white.
Princess lines are being adapted to
this type of model, though the sheerer
and less striking lingerie models show
a decided leaning toward the one-piece
blouse and skirt lines and to girdled
effects. You see these latter ideas de-
velop, too, in the heavily embroid-
ered and heavy lace-trimmed models,
but they are hardly so successful as the
long, unbroken lines.
Sheer robes of mousseline or linen,
fine lace and hand-embroidery, are
often accompanied by superb coats of
heavier lace, usually Irish; this heavy
lace in small quantities being also min-
gled with the fine lace of the robe. A
striking model of this class, shown in
a Fifth avenue shop, has a novel fea-
ture in the studding of the handsome
Irish lace coat, with brilliant cut jet
disks, and the idea, though bizarre,
works out more attractively than you
would imagine.
As for the useful little lingerie frocks
that will actually stand tubbing, they
are already with us in great quantities ;
and, though the really dainty models
are not extraordinarily cheap, they are
not at all in the same class with the
more gorgeous frocks such as are illus-
trated in the central group. For the
average woman they are infinitely more
desirable, and, luckily, even the home
seamstress can, if clever, achieve ex-
cellent results along this line.
Cheap one-piece models are offered
in the shops and are often altogether
admirable in design, having more ca-
chet than that same home seamstress
is likely to obtain ; but the difficulty is
that these pretty, effecive models are
in cheap materials, and are usually so
carelessly put together that they
quickly go to pieces with laundering,
or even with ordinary wear.
If you can afford the initial expense,,
it is nice, and in the long run economi-
cal, to buy the more expensive frock of
the same class made by some one of the
little establishments that specialize in
such tub frocks and in lingerie blouses,
or to buy good material and have them
made up carefully and conscientiously
under your own supervision. Handker-
chief linen, the French linon, while ex-
pensive, gives better service than any
other very fine and dainty lingerie ma-
terial, and is a better investment than
batiste or mull ; but either of these lat-
ter materials make up attractively and
the fine cotton etamines and cotton
crepes are also desirable and will be
much used.
Some of the fine lawns, too, can be
used, though most of them have too
much body and not enough softness for
the best effects. Good German Valen-
ciennes is the favored trimming and
need not be real to be satisfactory ; but
the narrow cluny, or Irish, with which
it is almost invariably associated,
should be real lace, and it is far better
to use a very small quantity of the real
article than to lavish cheaper lace upon
the frock.
The narrow Irish veining, narrow,
plain crochet insertion and hand-tucks
are not expensive trimmings, but give
delightful effects ; and there are expen-
sive embroidery bands, motifs, edges
and flouncings which may be combined,
with the lace, though the most attrac-
tive frocks of moderate price have only
the laces and hand-tuckings. Hand-
embroidery is, of course, an enormous
addition if it is fine and beautiful but
much of the sort used now upon the
cheaper blouses and frocks is b}^ no
means beautiful, and cheapens rather
than improves the garment.
There are plenty of little shops in un-
pretentious quarters now where such
simple one-piece lingerie frocks, hand-
made, trimmed in valenciennes, a little
real cluny or Irish and perhaps a very
little hand-embroidery, will be made to
order from $40 to $50 ; and, though this
may seem to some women a pretty high
price for a very simple tub frock, it
must be remembered that the simpli-
city is of a very dainty kind, and that
the frock will serve many summer pur-
poses and stand frequent journeys to
116
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
the laundry. From this price the well-
made lingerie frock of good materials
mounts in price until it reaches giddy
heights.
The linen frocks come next on the
list of serviceable tub frocks, and here
you find temptation on every hand.
Such delectable little frocks they are,
now that weavers and dyers in com-
bination have achieved altogether de-
sirable things in linen. The range of
colors this season is more beautiful
than ever before and the weaves amaz-
ingly varied, though most of them have
the softness which gives them the sem-
blance of the hand-woven linens, and
makes them both more beautiful and
more serviceable than the stifler, shi-
nier-surfaced linens of an earlier day
Some of the new weaves have a de-
cided luster, but it is not the old shine.
Rather, it is a mercerizing, which gives
to the soft, loose-woven linen the ap-
pearance of a tussor. The makers vow
that this luster remains intact after re-
peated launderings, but that must be
determined after experience.
There are all sorts of diagonal-weave
linens, embroidered linens, bordered
linens, striped linens, checked linens,
dotted linens, corded linens, etc. ; but
the linen par excellence is the soft,
dull-finished weave of hand-woven as-
pect, and in this one finds innumerable
lovely colorings. One of the most
prominent and popular color lines runs
through the gold and buff and citron
and corn color tones into, the light
ecrus and natural tones at one extreme,
and into the khakis, ripe peach and vari-
ous light browns at the darker extreme.
Such cool, soft, lovely, yellow tones
have never before been seen in linens ;
and, though they echo hues popular in
winter materials, they come with a
freshness and a surprise in the linens
and in the cottons, where also they
hold a conspicuous place.
A house whose linen frocks are
noted is. showing a large number of
charming models in these yellow lin-
ens, usually with touches of white for
relief, a little white-band embroidery, a
collar of embroidered white linen or
pique, a tiny collarless guimpe of white
pique, set with rows of very fine, yel-
low soutache, matching the linen; a
collar and frill of lingerie and lace or
some such becoming device A note of
black, too, is most effective on these
yellow tones, and is usually introduced
in a cravat or tiny bow, though in coat
suits the collar and cuffs, or merely the
collar, may be faced with black, and a
note of black may be introduced in the
making of the buttons.
A little black enters into many of the
white linen and natural linen coat-
suits and one-piece frocks, and is usu-
ally very effective, bat unless remova-
ble it makes cleansing instead of laun-
dering a necessity. Cleansing is the
better method for the linen coat in any
event, for few are the laundresses who
can do up such a suit without destroy-
ing its shapeliness ; but a cleanser is
not always available at short notice,
and it is difficult to get much service
out of a light-hued linen unless it can
be put frequently into the tub.
The blues are to be immensely popu-
lar among linens and are always practi-
cal, because, save in the very light
tones, they do not soil quickly, and the
blue dyes stand the onslaught of the
laundress more sturdily than most
dyes do.
The dark tones of blue are particu-
larly lovely this season. Never before
have the manufacturers obtained such
results, and we should see much of
these darker blue linens, relieved and
given coolness by a touch of white. A
long line of pink and rose linens chal-
lenges admiration, and there are some
delightfully cool, soft greens and grays.
Collarless neck effects are many
among the linens, but even where the
model is of this type it is usually pos-
sible to add a tiny guimpe of lingerie
or lace for the woman to whom the ex-
posed throat is unbecoming.
THE CHELSEA BOARD OF CONTROL
One must read very carefully and
thoughtfully the straightforward and
modest account of the results already
accomplished in Chelsea since the fire
to foregather any conception of the
herculean task which faced the Board
of Control appointed by Governor Dra-
per to meet that emergency.
Undertaken originally as a provi-
sional arrangement, the type of civic
organization which it represents is so
thoroughly in line with the most sanely
progressive ideas of our own time as
to arouse the hope among thoughtful
people that the arrangement may be
continued after the present term of
office shall have expired.
The personnel of the board in a
large measure accounts for its success,
and this is the strongest argument for
the plan of municipal government of
which it is a type, that it is able to com-
mand the services of such men.
Mr. W. E. McClintock, chairman of
j the board, is a civil engineer of high
I standing. He was for ten years chair-
Iman of the Massachusetts Highway
Commission, has served as city engi-
neer of Chelsea for many years, and is
thoroughly familiar with municipal
works and with Chelsea conditions and
requirements. In other words the
chairman of the board is an intelligent
and experienced expert.
Mr. Mark Wilmarth of Maiden, mem-
ber of the board, is also a civil engineer.
He is a graduate of the Worcester Poly-
technic Institute, and has been engaged
in much important work, particularly
as United States government inspector
of large works, in which capacity he
has become intimately familiar with
contracts for public work.
Mr. Alton C. Ratschesky of Boston
and Beverly, member of the board, is a
financier of high standing and long ex-
perience. He is president of the United
States Trust Company and of the Chel-
sea Trust Company. He is also a mem-
ber of the State Board of Charities and
engaged in many lines of public ac-
tivity. As financial adviser, his pres-
ence on the board is invaluable.
Mir. Alton E. Briggs, graduate from
Dartmouth College, member of the
board, was for many years a public-
school teacher, and for twenty-one
years in the Chelsea High School. He
is a resident of Chelsea and an expert
in educational matters. His efficient
planning is seen in the broad lines that
have been laid down for the future de-
velopment of Chelsea's school system.
Mr. George H. Dunham, member of
the board, is an experienced business
man, for many years with the Cobb,
Bates & Yerxa Company. His skill as
an accountant and minute familiarity
with market values, as well as his broad
experience in the details of practical
business, are of the highest valae to
the board.
Mr. Charles H. Read, city clerk of
Chelsea for many years, was appointed
executive secretary of the board. This
appointment, aside from the high per-
sonal fitness of Mr. Read, serves as a
connecting link between the board and
the regular city organization.
We have given so much space to this
statement of the personnel of the board
because we believe it to be the impor-
tant part of the story. The problem of
municipal government is the problem
of securing the right men in positions
of official responsibility and authority.
If the Chelsea method can do this, as
it has done so, it is a sign of the times
most full of hope.
117
US
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE.
FOREST PRESERVATION AS A
HOME PROBLEM
The illustration printed herewith of
lumbering operations within forty miles
of Boston calls sharp attention to the
pressing nature of the problem of for-
•est preservation. We are free to admit
that it is a problem, and a difficult one,
however warmly our sympathies may
be engaged on the side of preservation.
The land here undergoing the process
of denudation is the property of a
farmer, who, without doubt, needs the
passing of laws and educational cam-
paigns.
THE RETURN OF THE BOSTON
OPERA COMPANY
The Boston Opera Company, after a
western tour that was by no means de-
void of satisfactor}^ results, has begun
the second series of its first season in
Boston.
The effort to keep close to the pop-
ular interest is even more apparent
than at first. A new issue of stock is
advertised and bids fair to be over-
subscribed. The very best talent at
Lumbering operations within eorty miees oe Boston
money which the timber brings. "In-
telligent forestry," as thus far under-
stood and practiced, is for states and
nations, or, at least, for large capital-
ists. Jf we are to preserve, not simply
our great forests, but to some degree,
at least, those lesser groves that occur
here and there in our more settled dis-
tricts, to the amelioration of our cli-
mate and the beauty of our landscape,
there must be something more than the
the disposal of the management is of-
fered for the popular-priced nights.
The announcement is made that the
first series of performances in Boston
were carried out at a net profit over
actual operating expense — permanent
or partially permanent equipment be-
ing fairly regarded as capital invest-
ment.
The discovery is already made that
the Boston public desire a very high-
IN NEW ENGLAND
119
class presentation, and that the opera
company will be able to supply this,
the most hopeful indication is not so
much what has been done as the splen-
did esprit de corps of the organization
that is evident from the zest and sin-
cerity of the preparatory rehearsals
THE SKIES FOR MARCH
The new comet, discovered by Pro-
lessor Innes at Johannesburg, January
17, and known in astronomical circles
as comet 1910-A (or the first new
comet discovered in 1910),, which was
bright enough to be seen in broad day-
light, has now become a telescopic ob^
ject. Comet 1910-A had a length of
20,000,000 miles, and its nucleus, or the
solid part, a diameter of 4000 miles (a
little larger than Mars). The danger
of collision is past for the time being,
for the sudden visitor is rushing away
from our system at the diminishing
rate of 1,000,000 miles a minute. The
spectrum of the comet showed it to be
of the hydro-carbon type. Why this
comet was not discovered before it at-
tained such brilliancy is explained by
the fact that it sneaked up behind the
sun in a path like a lady's hairpin, so
that it was hidden from observers on
the earth until it rounded the sun.
Many people have mistaken this comet
for Halley's comet. Halley's comet is
in the constellation Pisces for the first
half of March, when it pasess behind
the sun to observers on the earth. It
is still too faint to be seen with the
naked eye, and will be visible as a
naked-eye object about April 1. As-
tronomers have discovered the pres-
ence of the deadly cyanogen gas in the
tail of the comet. As the earth passes
through the tail, it is interesting to
speculate on the result of the earth's
immersion. The earth has passed
through tails of comets before, the last
time within the memory of people liv-
ing now; and, aside from a night
lighted up almost like moonlight, no
evil effects happened. Astronomers
predict with certainty a shower of me-
teors about May 19, when the earth
passes through the tail. Another faint
comet in the north, which will be vis-
ible to the naked eye, is being watched
with interest by astronomers. The
brilliant winter constellations, Orion,
Canis Major, Canis Minor and Gem-
ini, are now sweeping toward the west,
promising spring to come. Venus, the
bright evening star of January, will
now be a morning star; Mars and Sat-
urn, side by side, are moving toward
the sun. Jupiter, the brightest object
in the east, rises about nine o'clock,
and is in a fine position for observation
by telescope throughout March and
April.
The past month has been notable for
the number of plays that have held
their own, week after week, with no
sign of diminished interest. At the
Park Theatre, "The Man From Home,"
with William Hodge in the role of Dan-
iel Voorhees Pike, has been running to
crowded houses since January 3. It is
probably the most-talked-of play in
Boston this month. "Have you seen
'The Man From Home'?" is the cor-
rect greeting in all manner of social
gatherings. "Full of fun and with
something to it as well, and without be-
ing a problem play," is the usual com-
ment.
"Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm," at
the Tremont Theatre, is another play
that is enjoying a very successful run.
Maude Adams, at the Hollis, in
"What Every Woman Knows," was a
limited engagement but crowded the
house at special prices.
At the new Shubert Theatre Few
Field's production of "The Midnight
Sons" has enjoyed the same highly
satisfactory experience.
The Colonial Theatre has been pre-
senting limited engagement plays, but
they have held to 'the limit with a good,
hard pull.
It is difficult not to philosophize, turn
a few wise saws as to what "the peo-
ple" want and offer advice — but we re-
frain. These plays succeeded because
120
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
the people liked them, and they in-
cluded about every kind and style of
play that is attempted in modern times.
They were all good plays and well
acted, and that is probably one reason
engagement at the Hollis Street The-
atre February 28. This will be followed
by "The Traveling Salesman," which
opens March 14. "The Sham" is a
new play, "The Traveling Salesman"
HENRIETTA CROSMAN
for their success. They also succeeded
because they succeeded, and the per-
petual uncertainty as to what will and
what will not- succeed had best be ac-
cepted as so much addition to the spice
of life.
MARCH ATTRACTIONS
Henrietta Crosman, in a new play,
"The Sham," will open a two weeks'
not an old one, but already an old favor-
ite. "The Sham" comes from Germany,
which fact to thoughtful play-goers
usually signifies firmness of technique
and solid dramatic construction. When
in addition to this the author has a real
and humanly interesting story to tell,
the result is about as satisfying as any-
thing on the stage can be. "The Trav-
IN NEW ENGLAND
121
eling Salesman" is too well known to
call for any descriptive account. It is
the personification of good humor and
deservedly popular.
At the Colonial Theatre, Kyrle Bel-
lew, in a new four-act play, "The
Builder of Bridges," by Alfred Sutro,
author of "The Walls of Jericho," is
booked for a two weeks' engagement,
beginning March 7. The scene shifts
from Mrs. Debney's drawing-room to
the office of Sir Henry Killick and
partners, Great George street, and the
story is of London and to-day, strenu-
osity and ennui, high life and high
finance. Kyrle Bellew is an attraction.
Alfred Sutro has done excellent work
in the past, and the combination looks
good in advance. On the twenty-first
"The Harvest Moon," a new play by
Augustus Thomas, will replace "The
Bridge Builders." No member of the
cast is to be particularly starred in this
production, and to many people this is
a very satisfying arrangement, and
seems to forecast a good, all-round pro-
duction.
At the Park Theatre, "The Man
From Home" shows no sign of waning
interest, and the play bids fair to hold
the boards through the entire.month.
The same appears to be true of "The
Midnight Sons," at the Shubert. The
management are already making ad-
vance sales of seats weil into March.
"The Midnight Sons" is full of bright,
playful music, and its descriptive title
of " a musical moving picture" is cor-
rect, but gives little idea of its many
bright features.
At the Majestic the March attraction
will be "Is Marriage a Failure?" This
is a merry comedy, adapted from "Die
Thur Ins Freie," which is one of the
current successes in Vienna and Ber-
lin. Ten husbands, ten wives, a lawyer
and a lady produce the uproarious com-
plications. The scenes of the play are
laid in Rosedale, a small country town.
At the Tremont Theatre, March 7,
Raymond Hitchcock, in "The Man
Who Owns Broadway," will be a very
strong attraction. Play and actor are
both well known and general favorites.
There is an unspeakable pleasure
which comes from the intimacy, so to
speak, which pervades the atmosphere
of a recital by Mrs. H. H. A. Beach.
This pleasure was afforded a host of
admiring friends on Thursday even-
ing, February 10, at Steinert Hall.
Mrs. Beach is always a favorite as a
pianist and a composer. Excellent and
scholarly musicianship, real artistic
temperament and a delghtfully genuine
personality — a rare combination of
qualities — breathes forth, through the
medium of music and Mrs. Beach, an
experience of realest and rarest delight.
We often have our intellects musically
fed; frequently feel the flame of emo-
tion until our own catch fire.
Seldom are both experiences coinci-
dent. When listening to Mrs. Beach
there is the coincidence, and more — a
fragrance, as it were — as though she
had handed you a tiny flower. And this
means a certain intimate sympathy
which is truly beautiful. Technically
translated and applied, Mrs. Beach in-
fuses into each portrayal a subtle flu-
ency of expressiveness by means of a
marvelous technical mastery and com-
mand. The English Suite in A minor,
by Bach, was fairly alive with spon-
taneity. The churchly Bach was away
on a vacation. We know much and
hear much about Bach's tremendous
and sanctified intellect, and it is a real
delight to occasionally know him when
a sympathetic and joyful heart is ruling
and guiding his pen. The Casar Franck
Prelude, Aria and Finale was another
experience — one of beauty and full of
awe and pity, and occasionally a very
sane melancholy, and always a firm
thread of faith. There is no need to
pigeon-hole Casar Franck away as Neo-
French. He is catholic nobleness. A
great nature working with a master
hand, weaving the colors into a tapes-
try — the tree of life. The Nocturne
by J. K. Paine was full of gentle ten-
122
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
derness and atmosphere. The Walzer,
Op. 6, No. 2, by Max Fiedler, are es-
pecially attractive, and were very en-
thusiastically received. The Goddard
"Indtehne" was marvelously rendered
suite for two pianos (manuscript).
Mrs. Beach was most ably assisted by
Mr. Carl Faelten. This is a most in-
teresting work and most clever in its
construction. The themes are full of
i
Mrs H. H. A Beach
and deserves especial mention. The
Chopin Mazurkas were not the most
characteristic ones, but were of inter-
est and sympathetically played. The
Chopin Etude in C minor was a bril-
liant ending to the second group.
The climax of interestand of achieve-
ment was the notable performance of
Mrs. Beach's latest work "Iverniana," a
meaning and elaborated with brilliant
virtuosic effects. There is a distinct
folkish flavor present. It is a work full
of spontaneity and the verve of ac-
tivity. It is a picture of life being lived,
rather than life in reflection or a mood.
It tells of people — not a person. The
work is thoroughly artistic and will
undoubtedly be especially popular.
IN NEW ENGLAND
123
The hall was entirely filled and the
audience very appreciative. Mrs.
Beach is decidedly one of our most
worthy pianists, and of America's truly
authoritative composers.
The Handel and Haydn Society pre-
sented Sir Arthur Sullivan's "Golden
Legend" (first performance) Sunday
evening, February 13, at Symphony
Hall. This is a most interesting and
dramatic work. This has been one of
the greatest successes of this composer.
The words are adapted from the poem
of Longfellow. The work of Mr. H.
Lambert Murphy deserves especial
praise and mention. Mr. Murphy has
a remarkable tenor voice of excellent
quality. Although young in the musi-
cal world, he has a most sympathetic
temperament, and sang with much fin-
ish. Mr. Miles had excellent opportu-
nity — more than he took advantage of
— to be very dramatic, in the role of
Lucifer. Excellent work was done by
Mrs. Kileski Bradbury and Miss Ade-
laide Griggs. Mr. Mollenhauer, the
conductor, has every reason to be
proud of the performance of this inter-
esting and wonderful work.
An unusual degree of interest was
manifested in an exhibition of water
colors by F. Hopkinson Smith in
Cobb's gallery, Boylston street. There
is a firmness and assurance of method,
or technique, in these productions,
which, aside from its intrinsic value as
a source of pleasure, removes one more
obstacle from the interpreter's path. A
strong and well-mastered technique be-
comes the vehicle for a thousand and
one fleeting impressions that he of the
more clumsy touch may receive but
cannot present.
THE PHILLIPS BROOKS MEMORIAL
But the real storm center of artistic
interest in Boston for the past month
has been a little farther down Boyhton
street, namely, the St. Gaudens memo-
rial to Phillips Brooks.
Fortunately or unfortunately, we
know just a little too much about this
striking bronze to catch a fresh impres-
sion of its beauty and significance
There are many men about Boston
who knew Brooks most intimately.
Their interest centers with the utmost
intensity upon the portraiture. To
them the great pulpiteer was a flaming
spirit, and in comparison the most vi-
talized bronze must seem cold and
dead. From the sadness of an impos-
sible aspiration they turn, as is hu-
manly natural, to piecemeal criticism :
this hand, that foot, the forward thrust
of it, and so on.
Then, too, we are far better informed
than usual as to the artist's purpose,
the inception of his idea and the man-
ner of his working it out. For his son,
most intimately familiar with his great
artist-father's work, Mr. Homer St.
Gaudens, has recently written in full on
that subject, with reproductions of first
sketches and a thousand and one
touches that leave us quite fully en-
lightened. Too fully? 1 am afraid so.
How we would love to know some of
these somethings about the hand that
carved the Medicean Venus ! But, on
the other hand, with what absolute im-
personality, what utter freedom from
prejudice we first gaze upon such
works, unearthed from a forgotten past.
They speak to us, as they were meant
to, with their own voice, as the spirit
that imagined them willed.
How many years will it be before
the dulling of familiarity will work in
our minds something of this finer and
larger result of time — before we will
become less mindful of the details, ac-
customed to the portraiture and open-
minded toward the truth conveyed by
the noble group that in years to come
will be one of the most familiar features
of Trinity?
However that may be, it is obvious
to any who have followed with thought-
fulness the trend of criticism, that the
present is no time for the passing of
judgment upon this work.
It is quite generally known that for
124
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
the last few years of his life St. Gau-
dens gave his entire strength to what
he chose to call "inspirational work"—
that is to say, to the representation of
the most subjective phases of thought.
The Brooks memorial must be so
classed. Rightly read, it has some-
thing to say to us. It is a Browning-
ism in bronze. When we have read it,
will the utterance be quite orthodox?
Possibly not; but quite certainly it will
be ennobling.
Rumor has it that the artist at first
thought of an angel as the symbol of
This is evident : Boston has been en-
riched. A notable piece of work has
been done — a work of greater fidelity
to the inner spirit than is common in
this too commercial age, and our own
appraisement of its value is quite cer-
tain to increase with the years. It is
an interesting fact that the casting of
the bronze was accomplished by New
England skill. The Gorham Company
of Providence, R. I., successfully per-
formed this most delicate and difficult
task. A deed of trust from the citizens'
committee conveys the custody of the
.
: qp *-'
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if? -
lf'>
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ipjr
■'-'.'•"■:■■ .<•':'.-;/ .:';••
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ILLUSTRATION FROM "AN ENTRANCING MOTOR TRIP
the authority and impulsive power of
the preacher. But with maturer reflec-
tion it became more and more evident
to him that nothing but the figure of
Christ would do.
To gather inspiration for the model-
ing of that great figure he travelled and
studied for months, seeking hungrily
.all that might deepen reverence and
ennoble faith. We cannot pass judg-
ment in a moment on the work of
years.
memorial to the Corporation of Trinity
Church.
AN ENTRANCING MOTOR TRIP j
Motoring with Mr. Presbrey is
very delightful experience, which hi
latest book, "Motoring Abroad," wil
IN NEW ENGLAND
125
permit many to enjoy, to whom the
actuality is a very remote dream.
His own enjoyment of a tour whose
perfect success was a real achievement
is instantly infectious. A business
man's efficient execution of carefully-
laid plans is apparent in each day's
itinerary, but no less important is his
own determination to find a new source
of delight in every new scene and new
experience. Of Brittany he says : ''The
drink of the country is the French
cidrc, for which no charge is ever made
at meals. To those accustomed to
American cider, the French cidre is not
particularly palatable, but it is a whole-
some drink, and, after one becomes ac-
customed to it, quite enjoyable (if you
like it)." That spirit will certainly
make the rough roads smooth !
Of very touching interest to us to-
day is his reference to the great inun-
dated district: —
"If there is a more beautiful valley
in the world, none of our party has
even seen it. It was almost one unin-
terrupted stretch of fields of waving
grain, great forests, superb chateaux
set far back from the road and ap-
proached between avenues of trees,
picturesque villages and long reaches
of one of the finest views in the world.
The air was sweet with the fragrance
of the fields, the wheat was just in head
and soon to be harvested, and waving
in the breezes were great patches of
bright-red poppies, which are found
everywhere through the fields of
France."
From France the scene shifts to Eng-
land and Wales, and the account is full
of the same bubbling good humor, ob-
servation of out-of-the-way but none
the less significant scenes and inci-
dents.
Through all this play of pleasantry
and observation runs a continual, but
not obtrusive, element of practical. ad-
vice to the less experienced tourist in
foreign parts. The prospective tour-
ist could not fail to gain much from a
reading of this book, which is attrac-
tively gotten out by the Outing Com-
pany.
PASSERS-BY
In this thrilling tale of mystery
and adventure by Anthony Partridge,
which is one of the spring offerings of
Little, Brown & Co., the author of "The
Kingdom of Earth" turns to the
strangely intermingled fortunes of a
street singer, a hunchback, and a fa-
mous English statesman. He closes
with the true ending of all adventure:
"The road was narrow and the arch-
ing trees touched overhead. Their lips
met for one long moment. Then she
drew him a little toward her with an
impulsive gesture.
" 'I do not want you to go out to look
for any more such dreams,' she said.
'I am tired of wandering in foreign
countries. I am tired of being name-
less. I want to belong somewhere, Gil-
bert.'
"A little reckless, he took her in his
arms. 'You belong to me,' he said.
'The other days are finished ' "
But before this desirable haven is
reached there is adventure enough.
The story is carried on by a running
fire of fresh and breezy conversation,
in the management of which the au-
thor displays great talent.
At THE COMMONWEALTH'S HEART
"Master Minds at the Common-
wealth's Heart" is the title of a g/oup
of biographical sketches by Professor
H. Epler, author of "The Beatitude of
Progress," etc.
"I present these ten lives in a group
with a purpose," declares the author in
his "Foreword." "For zones of genius
have always held their peculiar place
in the history of humanity. . . We
speak of the Concord School, and prop-
erly. They were writers, authors,
dreamers. But these in the Worcester
zone of genius are not only writers and
dreamers, but founders, creators, in-
ventors, discoverers, 'doers of the
word,' and not 'writers' only, and in
this sense they are a greater zone of
genius than that of Concord."
In telling his story, Mr. Epler reveals
a dramatic instinct that seizes on the
salient points and holds the attention of
the busiest reader.
M
-Witli flic-
NEW ENGLAND
BOARDS 2 TRADE
:
LAWRENCE
The city of Lawrence, Mass., has no
ancient history, but is a city of modern
growth entirely. Sixty-five years ago
there were then less than two hundred
people living on the territory now in-
cluded within the limits of Lawrence.
To-day it has a population of more than
80,000, and the next two years will un-
doubtedly see that number increased
to 100,000. The boom in the textile in-
dustries is now on for Lawrence to a
greater extent than ever before. The
new mills which have been erected in
Lawrence during the past year, and
which will soon be completed and in
running order, will furnish employ-
ment for 7000 or 8000 new operatives.
Several other mills are also planned for
erection during the coming year, which
will add still more to the number of op-
eratives. Dwellings, stores and other
buildings are being rapidly erected for
the accommodation of this addition to
the population. Public improvements
have been, and are still being, made,
which will add greatly to the advan-
tages of Lawrence as a business center
and as a home city.
The Board of Trade, which was or-
ganized in 1888, has had its fair share
in helping to make the city what it is
to-day. The leading business and pro-
fessional men of the city are included
in its membership, and their efforts in
making Lawrence a better city for its
inhabitants have been acknowledged
and appreciated by all. One of its
more recent efforts has been the in-
auguration of an industrial school for
the benefit of the working people of
Lawrence and vicinity. This school
126
was opened about a year and a half
ago, with evening classes for those em-
ployed in the textile industries. In Sep-
tember, 1909, day classes were opened
for boys and girls of fourteen years of
age and upwards. The registration for-
this school was far beyond the expec-
tations of those interested in its inau-
guration, and the results so far have
been greatly to the advantage and im-
provement of those attending its ses-
sions. The state and city have appro-
priated money for its support; many
thousands of dollars' worth of ma-
chinery and supplies have been gener-
ously contributed by manufacturers
who are interested in the principles of
industrial education. Its great need to-
day is for a large and suitable school
building, where the classes and ma-
chinery may be all gathered together
for better work. It is hoped that this
will be accomplished in the very near
future.
Lawrence has a very promising fu-
ture before it as a great center of tex-
tile manufacturing. The value of its
manufactured products makes it the
second city in the state, being only ex-
ceeded by Boston.
CHARLES H. LITTLEFIELD,
Secretary Board of Trade.
BOSTON CHAMBER OF COMMERCE
At a largely attended special meet-
ing called for February 8 to consider
the annual reports of committees, the
Boston Chamber of Commerce put it-!
self on record, by a vote of two to one,j
in favor of the proposed amendment to!
the State Constitution, striking out the
words "proportional and" in that pro-
WITH THE NEW ENGLAND BOARDS OF TRADE
127
vision of that instrument relating to
taxation, and permitting the classifica-
tion of property for the purposes of
taxation.
It will be remembered that only re-
cently the state tax commission re-
ported to the Governor against this
proposed amendment, which has al-
ready been approved by one Legisla-
ture, that of last year, and is now be-
fore the present Legislature, in accord-
ance with the law which requires that
an amendment to the constitution, in
order to become effective, must be
passed by two separate Legislatures
and ratified by the people at the polls.
This amendment is one of the most
important matters which has come be-
fore the Legislature of Massachusetts
in many years. It proposes to amend
an ancient restriction imposed by the
original framers of the constitution,
and thereby place Massachusetts in a
class with fourteen other states of the
Union, which, having recognized the
practical impossibility of enforcing a
law which seeks to make intangible
property pay its proportional share of
taxation, have granted to their Legis-
latures the power to distribute the inci-
dences of taxation in a way which has
proved at once more just and more
practicable.
This amendment has been favored
by the committee on taxation of the
Boston Chamber of Commerce since
the consolidation with the Merchants'
Association last June, and was also fa-
vored by the similar committee 01 the
old Merchants' Association, of both of
which committees Mr. ]"ohn Chandler
Cobb, now first vice-president of the
Boston Chamber of Commerce, was
chairman. It has also been earnestly
advocated by Professor Charles J. Bul-
lock, professor of economics at Har-
vard University, and Mr, S. R.
Wrightington, secretary of the manu-
facturers and merchants' committee on
tax laws.
The decision of the Chamber of Com-
merce was not reached, however, until
after a lively debate lasting for more
than an hour. The report of Mr.
Cobb's committee favoring" the amend-
ment was vigorously opposed by Mr.
Moorfield Storey and by former Mayor
Nathan Matthews, Jr., two of the lead-
ing members of the Suffolk bar. They
contended that the adoption of such an
amendment would result in exempting
the rich man at the expense of the
poor ; would pave the way for the exer-
cise of pressure on the Legislature in
favor of special privileges, such as were
brought to bear at Washington by the
beneficiaries of the protective tariff;
would open the door to socialistic leg-
islation of the most objectionable sort,
and would, in fact, encourage the con-
fiscation of property through an inequi-
table exercise of the taxing powers of
the Legislature.
These arguments, ably and force+ully
presented as they were, were success-
fully controverted by Mr. Cobb, by Mr.
E. A. Filene, former Governor Curtis
Guild, Jr., Laurence Minot and Mr. S.
R. Wrightington. It was pointed out
by them that the striking out of the
words "proportional and" would not,
as prophesied by Mr. Matthews, leave
property at the mercy of the advocates
of socialistic legislation, inasmuch as
it was proposed to leave in the consti-
tution the word "reasonable," which
had been construed by the Supreme
Court of Massachusetts as meaning
fair and equal. They also insisted that
unless the constitution was amended as
proposed, the present unequal burden
of taxation as imposed under present
conditions would drive industries out
of this state and thereby depress values
generally, including those of real es-
tate. Mr. Minot laid special emphasis
on this point, stating that he had found
in his experience that the value of real
estate was always a reflection of the
industrial and commercial activities in
the place where the real estate was sit-
uated, and taking issue with the asser-
tion of Mr. Storey that the amendment
would depress real estate value's.
In accordance with the decisive vote
of this meeting, the influence of the
Chamber of Commerce is now joined
to that of other influential bodies of
this* state in favor of an amendment
which, it is believed by its advocates,
128
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
will have a far-reaching effect upon
conditions in Massachusetts, ana do
much to attract new capital within its
borders and encourage further expan-
sion on the part of great industries al-
ready here, which contribute so much
to the prosperity of the commonwealth.
The officers of the Chamber of Com-
merce believe that all those interested
in this important subject of taxation
cannot do better than study the argu-
ments in favor of this amendment ad-
duced at this meeting.
HARTFORD LOOKS BACKWARD
Its Growth During Past Decade Unprece-
dented in Its History
The Hartford Board of Trade and
Business Men's Association have taken
the initial step toward consolidating as
a Chamber of Commerce. It may be
that the Manufacturers' Association
and the Municipal Art Society will also
come in, thus constituting a commer-
cial body, working for the interest of
the city, that will, in point of numbers
and efficiency, be second to none in
New England.
Already the Board of Trade and busi-
ness men have declared in favor of the
step. Each organization will preserve
its identity and carry on its own
specific work, except where co-opera-
tion is possible, as will be the case in
the workings of all the general com-
mittees. Once a year the associated
bodies will get together as a Chamber
of Commerce and plan out the year's
work. They will all occupy the same
rooms, thus making it easy for a vis-
itor to Hartford to get into immediate
touch with the organization desired.
EXETER
Editor New England Magazine
At no time in its history has the
business outlook in this town been
more encouraging than at present Ex-
eter, N" H., famous throughout the
land for its schools and attractive
homes, has quietly, but steadily, been
improving and growing for the past
five or six years. The growth has been
so gradual that many of our own citi-
zens are sceptical ; but to prove the
statement it is only necessary to open
one's eyes and observe actual condi-
tions. More houses were built in 1909
than for any year in the past ten. In
spite of this, tenements are in demand,
and the very few which are idle are
empty because of lack of modern im-
provements which are desired.
All our various manufacturing in-
dustries are running on full time and
are enjoying great prosperity, with ab-
solute freedom from labor troubles.
The Exeter Machine Company has
recently changed hands, and the new
management is actively at work clean-
ing up, rearranging and installing new
equipment for business on new and en-
larged plans. President Joseph H Sy-
monds of the new company will receive
a cordial welcome from the citizens
and business interests of Exeter. With
the admirable location of his shops and
the excellent foundry connected, it is
confidently expected that this business
will show rapid and substantial growth.
The Colburn box shop has recently
been sold at auction and dismantled, but
within a few days the purchaser, Au-
gustus Young of this town, has sold to
Vernon M. Hawkins the planing mill,
shop and boiler house connected, which
leaves to Mr. Young the large two-and-
one-half-story building for storage or
for sale for some new industry.
Mr. Hawkins, who for the past year
as manager of the Poor lumber yard
has made many friends, will install new
machinery in the planing mill, and will
soon be ready to operate the plant for
the manufacture of lumber and boxes.
The usual spring inquiry for homes
in this attractive town, and for farms
in this vicinity, has started much ear-
lier than usual, and it seems highly
probable that real estate transfers will
De many. This means some growth
and much improvement.
By the will of the late Albert C.
Buzell, who very recently died, the
Robinson Female Seminary will profit
by the gift of $10,000, and the Exeter
Cottage Hospital will receive $30,000.
DANA W. BAKER,
Secretary Exeter (N. H.) Board of
Trade.
Where New England Leads
There have been many changes in
fashions of cooking and heating appli-
ances since the beginning of things.
In the early part of the last century
there was little beside the old fire-place
and brick oven; then came the Franklin
Heater and wood burning cook-stove,
and so on to the goods of to-day, that
are found on the sales floors of house-
furnishing and hardware stores, await-
ing removal to the well-appointed post
of honor in the American homes.
The old-fashioned New England
kitchen, with its great brick fire-place,
flanked on one side by the large brick
oven and on the other by shelves loaded
will be interested in learning something
about the ranges that are recommended
by the leading cooking-school teachers
throughout the country, and that have
been the "Standard of Quality for over
Fifty years."
The plant, consisting of twenty-three
separate buildings, is located on Boston
tidewater, and is connected by a single
drawbridge with its wharfage which has
a. deep water channel and a frontage
of 750 feet on the north shore of Chel-
sea Creek. The area covered by the
Magee works reaches almost as far as
the eye can sweep, embracing twelve
acres in all, about the size of an ordi-
One oe the Great Cupolas— Showing Pourers with Crucible Ladles
down with shining plates, pewter and
glasses, all sparkling with cleanliness
and indicative of thrift and neatness,
never fails of interest, even in these
days of modern apartments, Such a
picture was presented to me in the old
Fairbanks house at Dedham, Mass.,
the ancestral home of Vice-President
Fairbanks. Here is a hearth that com-
bines the old and the new — the open
fire-place and a brick oven, with a
Magee range.
New England cookery has long been
considered the world's standard of
culinary merit, and the housekeepers
who read the New England Magazine,
nary village farm in New England. On
the wharf are piled vast supplies of pig
iron, moulding-sand, sawed and dimen-
sion lumber, coal, coke, limestone, and
other materials used in the manufac-
ture of modern ranges and heating ap-
paratus. In fact, this foundry is sup-
plied with material coming from ter-
ritory as widely apart as Maine and the
Mississippi, and the Great Lakes to the
Gulf of Mexico.
No one can appreciate the painstak-
ing care necessary in the making of
Magee cooking and heating apparatus
until he has visited the factories where
these goods are made. The individual
WHERE NEW ENGLAND LEADS
parts of Magee Ranges and Heaters are
made largely of cast-iron, which has
proved to be the most indestructible
and heat-radiating material.
A large, fireproof building, located
within 600 yards of the line ravaged
by the great Chelsea fire of 1908, is the
"pattern building," where all the Magee
patterns, valued at hundreds of thou-
sands of dollars, are stored. Here are
preserved the original models neces-
sary to make the castings. This build-
ing is the fortress that must be pro-
tected at all hazards, and the company's
fire department had five streams play-
ing on this structure during the Chelsea
fire, realizing that the "Fire Proof," as
it is called, must be saved if nothing
else. The entire plant, however, was
nor too hard; too slow to take heat or
too quick to soften under it.
The Magee Furnace Company be-
lieves in thorough mutuality with its
trade, and in cultivating the closest
acquaintance with their representatives
everywhere. In the Boston office are
reception rooms where dealers from all
parts of the country are welcome to
make their headquarters during their
stay in Boston. In these reception
rooms are hung photographs of public
buildings, libraries, churches, and
homes, situated from Maine to Cali-
fornia, that have been perfectly
equipped with Magee cooking and
heating apparatus. There are also
pictures of out-door signs painted
in many languages; but the one
A Glimpse oe the Counting Room Through a Vista of Modern Heaters
providentially preserved, and hundreds
of workmen were able to immediately
resume employment.
The same quality of iron is used in
the low-price Magee products as in the
more costly, for there is but one stan-
dard of quality in their manufacture.
A perfect stove can be made from no
one particular kind of iron ; a mixture
or blending of cast metal made from
various ores is necessary to secure a
perfect casting and a durable product.
Cast iron varies in its proportions of
silicon, sulphur, manganese and phos-
phorus coming from the different iron
mines, and the proper blend is a matter
of the first importance at the Magee
foundry. It must neither be too soft
word which all people alike have come
to understand is one of five letters —
"Magee" — embossed upon every prod-
uct of the largest manufacturers of
heating and cooking apparatus under
one name in the United States ; and the
distribution covers all parts of this
country, and abroad to some extent.
Upward of thirty gold medals and
awards have been given the Magee
products, beginning with the Centen-
nial in 1876, at which the historical
"Signing of the Declaration of Inde-
pendence" was cast in iron and given
out as souvenirs. The signatures
and reading matter of the Decla-
ration was marvelously clear and dis-
cernible.
mtm
V 1 * c -
Photograph! by Langill, Hanover. N. H
i ■ : -\*"^'c<?--. <
Photograph by Langill, Hanover, N. H.
Photograph by Langlll, Hanover, N. H
Gathering the sap
*i. ^aSP?
Photograph by Langill, Hanover, N. H.
The sap house
'J ^ +~x
Photograph by Langill, Hanover, N. H.
The king oe the Mapi,e orchard
Photograph by Langill, Hanover, N. H
Making the rounds
From a photograph hy Rockwood
Wiluam Howard Ta*t
New England Magazine
Vol. XLII. APRIL, 1910 Number 2
President Taft and Republican
Party Promises
By FREDERICK W. BURROWS
THE United States, we are told,
is suffering* from an orientalized
administration, and they are
quite worried about it — on the other
side of the ocean !
The discovery was made by some
under-fed European journalist, who, in
his wild scramble for copy, remember-
ing that Mr. Taft was once an admin-
istrator in the Philippine Islands,
evolved the important thought that an
era of orientalism has fallen on several
Western nations, owing to the contact
of their rulers with Eastern civilization,
and of these countries the United States
is at present the worst sufferer.
London journalists gravely recall
that England has undergone the same
experience under certain Indian-
trained prime ministers, and now rec-
ognize the symptoms in the present
merican administration !
That, to be sure, is the least of our
orries. But that the big, honest Ohio
itizen who is now our President
hould have developed the ideas and
ethods of an Oriental potentate is no
ore absurd an idea than many expres-
sions concerning his administration
llthat arise from circles which should be
petter informed.
I It would seem to be time to reflect
for a moment and make for ourselves a
pore sober estimate, both of the actual
work to date and of what may be ex-
pected of the present administration.
In the first place, let us be careful
not to underestimate the force of cur-
rent criticism or the reasons for it.
The tariff bill is felt by a large part
of the country to have been a failure on
the part of the Republican party to re-
deem its platform and pre-election
promises, and the activity of the Presi-
dent in seeking to reconcile the disaf-
fected sections to the new law has led
them to identify the measure as it
stands with his ideals, and to place
upon him personally the burden of re-
sponsibility for all its shortcomings.
And this responsibility the President
has in no way sought to shift to other
shoulders.
He has frankly assumed responsibil-
ity for the measure and attempted to
defend it from its critics, who have
forthwith become his critics.
Whether or not this stand of his is
"good politics," it is typical of the
courage, not to say the chivalry, of the
man.
The tariff struggle, in conjunction
with the efforts to reorganize the
House, and, to some degree, the Sen-
ate, has left the Republican party on
the verge of permanent factional dis-
ruption.
No shifting of responsibility by the
137
PRESIDENT TAFT AND REPUBLICAN PARTY PROMISES 139
President could fail to place it in such a
way as to greatly intensify the belliger-
ency of these warring elements. His ad-
ministration finds itself face to face with
the possibility of three years of helpless-
ness because of a disrupted party. With
an honest zeal and heroic faithfulness
to his friends, the President quietly as-
sumes the responsibility for and per-
sonally undertakes the defence of the
measure.
It is his sincere belief that the new
law is better than the old one — and it
is yet too soon to say that it is not.
Notwithstanding his evident sincer-
ity in this faith, the country appears
all too soon to have forgotten that the
President labored night and day to se-
cure a bill that would to any degree re-
deem the pledges made by his party,
and to the faith in which, partially at
least, his election was due.
Such a struggle between honesty and
the interests has never before been
waged on the floors of Congress. What-
ever there is of good in the bill is due
to his efforts ; whatever there may be
of fault in it is there in spite of his
struggles. He toiled like a giant to re-
deem his pledges, or the pledges of his
party, and give to the country a bona-
fide tariff reduction. He did not toil in-
effectually. Something was accom-
plished — perhaps much. To say that
some one else could have accomplished
ore under the same circumstances is
not based on any rational ground of
ast performance.
In addition to the passing of a law
hich it is by no means proven is not
good law — at least, an improvement —
e secured the establishment of a board
r commission whose duty it shall .be
o remove the whole subject of tariff
rom the field of political jobbery and
lace it on a scientific basis. There is
o reason whatever to say in advance
hat this commission will not be fruit-
ul of great results.
Mr. Taft was elected as a successor
o Theodore Roosevelt, and it was gen-
ially understood that he would "carry
>n the Rooseveltian policies."
For seven years the country had
)een sitting under an unprecedented
era of presidential pulpiteering. The
people were aroused to a state border-
ing on hysteria over all manner of cor-
porate abuse and political corruption.
But had anything been done to seri-
ously alter the conditions? Had there
been anything but words?
The passing of a tariff law, in spite
of the increasing insistence of the peo-
ple, was ingeniously — a little too in-
geniously — postponed until after the
election.
With the one exception of a law to
increase the responsibility of employ-
ers for injury to employees — a minor
detail — no great legislation had been
accomplished in the furtherance of the
"policies" advocated. The declaiming
had all been done; the work was all
left to be done.
It was left for the new administra-
tion to pass the required tariff law and
to accomplish results ; in other words,
to practice what had been so effectively
preached.
That the practicing has not been
quite so easy as the preaching should
not surprise any one.
Mr. Taft took hold, with immense en-
thusiasm, of the problem of securing
such new legislation as seemed neces-
sary for the actual furtherance of any
of these "policies." It is his urging of
these measures a little more directly,
or rather a little more openly and
frankly, than was usual, which is char-
acterized as "orientalism !"
No President has shown greater rev-
erence for the constitution than Mr.
Taft. He has merely done frankly and
openly what others have done secretly
to influence legislation.
Pie has urged on Congress seven
measures, all of which are among
the snags, and none of which seem
likely to pass without serious modifi-
cation.
These measures are the income tax
amendment, the postal savings bank
bill, the federal incorporation bill, the
statehood bill, the Alaska bill, the anti-
injunction bill and amendments to the
railroad rate laws.
Each of these, it will be seen, is an
effort to actually accomplish some-
140
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
thing along the lines of previous decla-
mation. That they should have struck
difficulties, and struck them hard, is an
evidence that they have a business end
that is feared by the powers that be.
That they are ideally constructed
just as submitted is scarcely to be ex-
pected. Congress is supposed to be
the law-making body of our govern-
ment, and its machinery is supposed to
be effective for whipping proposed leg-
islation into shape.
It is more than doubtful if an equal
amount of important legislation was
ever before Congress at one time. That
all of these bills should become laws is
too much to expect. That they should
become laws without modification is
hardly to be desired. Their present
status is harmless enough, and if they
can be pulled out of limbo one by one
and so formulated as to have their ob-
jectionable features eliminated, a great
deal will have been accomplished in the
right diretcion — accomplished, mind you;
not simply preached. The fact that
these measures have not all been rail-
roaded through into laws is not a fair
ground for criticism.
No single incident has so predis-
posed the public to a critical attitude
toward the Taft administration as the
Pinchot-Ballinger controversy. To those
already hostile in feeling on account of
the tariff law the President's apparent
defence of Mr. Ballinger appeared to
be another indication of administrative
subservience to corporation influence.
The controversy has been a most un-
fortunate one, and Mr. Pinchot cannot
be justified for throwing it on the ad-
ministration at the time and in the
manner which he did. His haste was,
to say the least, unseemly. The high
personal integrity of Mr. Taft was a
sufficient guarantee that any serious de-
partmental irregularity would receive
proper attention. The plea that imme-
diate action was necessary, that delay
would result in irrevocably detrimental
action, was a very lame one. No action
of the kind involved could possibly be
irrevocable. If fraudulent conveyance
of land or granting rights or privileges
could be shown at any time, the grants
or conveyances could very easily be
withdrawn by proper legal action.
The manner of the attack on Mr. Bal-
linger was such as to arouse the Presi-
dent's keen sense of fairness. From his
college days this has been one of his
most conspicuous and lovable traits.
To one acquainted with him, no other
action than that which he took would
have seemed possible, and no sensible
person would desire in the presidential
chair a type of man to whom any other
action would have seemed possible.
Realizing that his administration was
under fire, Mr. Taft, on Lincoln day,
in New York City, made a speech, the
absolute sincerity and open-minded-
ness of which must look for a counter-
part in such great documents as Lin-
coln's first inaugural address and plea
for national peace. Peace at that mo-
ment was not best, but Lincoln would
not have been the great man that he
was had he urged it a whit less ear-
nestly and devoutly.
It is not from a conflict of arms or
from sectional strife like that of 1861
that Mr. Taft would save us, but from
a condition of faction in the ranks of
the ruling party, which, if it is not
healed, will result in legislative chaos
for the next three years, and nobody
knows what after that.
It is quite possible that the fighting
out to the finish of the controversies
now disrupting the party is more to be
desired than peace. But whether this
is so or not, the seeking of peace first
is unquestionably the President's duty,
and his Lincoln-day speech was in
every way a broad and noble utterance.
The President is not responsible for
all the sins of his party. He cannot be
held responsible for the derelictions of
a Congress which he did not neglect
and can only control through the
weight of argument and influence. He
can only be held responsible for the
faults of his own appointed subordi-
nates in so far as it can be shown that
due care was not taken in their ap-
pointment, or gross and repeated in-
competence or dishonesty remains un-
punished.
Asa loyal man, as the head of a loyal
1
PRESIDENT TAFT AND REPUBLICAN PARTY PROMISES 141
body of executive subordinates, it is his versies, the dignity of the nation will be
manifest duty to stand firmly in their de- upheld and the country saved from any
fence until wrong-doing can be proven, pitiful spectacle of spitefulness and lit-
All in all, the conduct of Mr. Taft as tleness.
a President during one of the most try- Whatever disappointment may be
ing years that has faced any adminis- felt in the tariff law, or the dragging of
tration has been such as to give to the other legislative action, and whatever
country a very deep impression of his may be the judgment of any individual
greatness of soul, intellectual breadth as to the merits of the Ballinger con-
and grasp, firmness and courage. troversy,it should be frankly and cheer-
With such a chief executive, if there fully admitted, on the merits of the case,
have been mistakes, they will be cor- that Mr. Taft has well earned the con-
rected, and if there are to be contro- fidence of the country.
"MO one has a motive as strong as the Administra-
tion in power to cultivate and strengthen business
confidence and business prosperity. But it does rest
with the National Government to enforce the law, and
if the enforcement of the law is not consistent with
the present methods of carrying on business, then it does
not speak well for the present methods of conducting
business, and they must be changed to conform to
the law. There was no promise on the part of the
Republican party to change the anti-trust law except
to strengthen it, or to authorize monopoly and a sup-
pression of competition and the control of prices, and
those who look forward to such a change cannot now
visit the responsibility for their mistake on innocent
persons. Of course the Government at Washington
can be counted on to enforce the law in the way best
calculated to prevent a destruction of public confidence
in business, but that it must enforce the law goes
without saying."
Extract from President Taffs Lincoln Day Address.
z
Williams College
By HON. RICHARD A. BALLINGER
AT1
toi
H:
that period of American his-
tory when the loyal citizens of
~~is Majesty's colonies in New
England were proving their soon-to-be-
shaken allegiance to the British crown
by gallantly repelling theinvasionpf the
French, Colonel Ephriam Williams of
the Massachusetts Militia, bethinking
himself of the uncertain tenure on
which human life is held in such troub-
lous times made, while his forces were
encamped at Albany, his last will and
testament; and further realizing that
patriotism consists quite as much in
educating the youth of our country to
good citizenship as in combatting its
enemies, he incorporated a provision by
which certain moneys and lands should
be devoted to the establishment of a
free school, "within five years after an
established peace . . . in a town-
ship west of Fort Massachusetts, com-
monly known as the West Township,
forever, provided, the said township
shall fall within the jurisdiction of the
Province of Massachusetts Bay.'.'
Having thus settled his worldly
affairs and proved his patriotism, in
one way, he proved it in a second, when
shortly afterward he fell at the head of
his forces in the "Bloody Morning
Scout" preceding the Battle of Lake
George, September 8, ' 1755.
Williams knew the country well
which he had chosen as a site for his
school, having been commander, and,
indeed, builder, of Fort Massachusetts,
which was situated near by, and it is
not improbable that the old Grecian
idea of surrounding a woman as the
time of motherhood approached with
beautiful things, that she might bring
forth a child possessed of beautiful
qualities, might have influenced him.
Certain it is that the aesthetic sur-
roundings of Williamstown should
profoundly impress a maturing mind.
Williamstown is a village of spread-
ing elms and colonial houses set upon a
hill in the middle of a basin whose rim
is a chain of still higher hills, piled
tier upon tier, and tinted in all the
gradations of color, from the rich green
of the nearer landscape to blue, and
from blue to hazy purple, until one can
hardly distinguish cloud from moun-
tains, and over all, the soft sky and
fleecy clouds casting their shifting
shadows on the nearer slopes.
It is a country of wonderful calm.
It is the country Bryant knew when he
wrote Thanatopsis. Here are:
The hills, rock ribbed and ancient as
the sun;
The vales stretching in pensive quiet
were between:
Rivers that move in majesty, and the
complaining
Brooks that make the meadows green."
He who has been here, be it for ever
so short a time, has tasted the lotus,
and the craving to return can never
be satiated.
"An established peace" was a long
time in coming, for it was not until
1785 that the Free School was finally
established. The "West Township," or
West Hoosic, as it is frequently called
in old records, had, in the meantime,
become Williamstown, and the "Prov-
ince of Massachusetts Bay" was the
Commonwealth of Massachusetts.
The legislature did not, as it did in
many similar cases at the time, offer
the school any financial encouragement,
rather calling particular attention to
the provision in the will of the school's
benefactor, that in case the donations
"should afford an interest more than
143
144
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
President Henry A. Gareiei/d
sufficient for the support and mainte-
nance of the School in Williamstown,
the surplusage should be improved to
the use of a school in the East Town-
ship, now called Adams."
As corporations, like individuals, are
seldom troubled with a "surplusage" of
wealth, it is needless to say that the
school in Adams was never founded.
At the first meeting of the trustees in
1785 a resolution was passed that "it
is the sense of the corporation that the
Free School in Williamstown be open
and free for the use and benefit of the
inhabitants of that town and the free
citizens of the American States," an
expression, in passing, which serves to
show the gravity and lack of the sense
of. humor in that august body — and
further, that "it will best coincide with
the liberal view of the donor and the
intention of the legislature to admit no
student to the Free School .
not having been taught to read Eng-
lish well."
The word "citizen" in the first reso-
lution seems to imply that the aim of
the school was the education of white
WILLIAMS COLLEGE
145
men exclusively and not for the teach-
ing of Indians as among many institu-
tions of learning founded at that time ;
the second, at that time, and consider-
ing the school's location, apparently
points toward collegiate ambitions.
However, in spite of the ambitious
entrance requirements, the Free School
throve, for three years later we find
the trustees petitioning the legislature
"for the grant of a lottery to raise the
sum of twelve hundred pounds" for
the erection of a building in which to
conduct the school. The lottery
scheme being highly popular at that
time as a means of raising funds for
civic and collegiate purposes, the legis-
lature granted the petition in the fol-
lowing spring. As a result West
College was built in 1790. It still
stands in its original position on a
hill overlooking the rest of the college,
a square, box-like structure with * a
much too large cupola, but beloved for
its associations.
In 1792 a petition setting forth the
"several circumstances attending the
situation of the Free School .
peculiarly favorable to a seminary of
a more public and important nature"
was presented to the legislature, which
in 1793 granted the trustees a charter,
directing that "there be erected and
established in the town of Williams-
town, in the county of Berkshire, a
college, for the purpose of educating
youth, to be called and known by the
name of Williams College."
It is not uninteresting to note as an
example of local jealousy, and an in-
stance of the strong hold which the
doctrine of state sovereignty had upon
the people at that time, that one of the
reasons cited as an argument in
favor of the establishment of a college
at Williamstown was that Dartmouth
and Yale, more conveniently situated to
the people of Western Massachusetts
than was Harvard, were drawing many
out of the state for that reason.
Whether or no this was the clinching
argument with the Solons of this cod-
146
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
fish-fostered commonwealth, the char-
ter, as has been said, was granted.
During the first years of the college's
life, its growth was somewhat slow.
In 1798 East College was built, but
otherwise there were few improve-
ments either in equipment or curricu-
lum. William Cullen Bryant, writing
to a friend in 1859 describes the insti-
tution in his day (1810) as follows:
"The college buildings consisted of
two large, plain, brick structures, called
East and West College, and the college
W* f /
going out, I found one of these build- 1|
ings in a blaze, and the students danc- 1
ing and shouting around it. . . .
"When the number of teachers was j!
so small (there were four in the faculty,
consisting of the president, one pro-
fessor, and two tutors) it could hardly
be expected that the course of studies
should be very extensive or complete, j
The standard of scholarship at Wil-'
Hams College, at that time, was so far
below what it now is that I think many |
graduates in those days would be no
Griffin hau,
grounds consisted of an open green be-
tween the two, and surrounding both.
From one college to the other you
passed by a straight avenue of Lom-
bardy poplars, which formed the sole
embellishment of the grounds. There
was a smaller building or two of wood,
forming the only dependencies of the
main edifices, and every two or three
years the students made a bonfire of
one of these. I remember being startled
one night by the alarm of fire, and
more than prepared for admission aSj
freshmen now. There were some, how-'
ever, who found to9 much exacted from
their diligence, and left my class on]
that account."
Yet those days of struggle were noO
without their fruit. For, while oui
pious forbears were urging the be
nighted aborigines along the straight
and narrow — very narrow — path oJ
Christian rectitude, and not infre-
quently impressing upon them a vivic
i
WILLIAMS COLLEGE
147
example of the church militant in ac-
tion by hustling their unprepared souls
into the church triumphant with their
trusty flintlocks, a little band of Wil-
liams students sighed for other worlds
to conquer and founded the first for-
eign missionary society in America.
The founding is one of the picturesque
legends of the college.
One sultry Sunday afternoon in 1806
a party of students went out to a pine
grove on the border of the village to
hold a prayer meeting, but as they
prayed a thunder storm came up so
suddenly that they had no time to re-
turn to their rooms but sought shelter
under a near-by haystack. While they
were waiting for the shower to pass,
the conversation turned upon the con-
version of the heathen and one of the
number suggested the need of mis-
sionaries in Asia. The suggestion met
with instant favor and before the storm
was over the society was formed. A
monument now marks the spot where
the haystack stood, and is known as the
"Haystack Prayermeeting" monument.
It is not strange that the religious
zeal should have been strong in these
The Thompson chapee
Haystack prayermeeting monument
men. There is an awful grandeur
about the towering hills that makes
man feel his littleness and their calm
serenity shows him his helplessness.
"The lofty domes and pinnacles of
the hills point him to God, and the long-
drawn aisles of the woodland lead his
thoughts toward heaven." In this
"spot where the Last Judgment might
be held, with the universe assembled
on the slopes of the encircling hills,"
may he fittingly cry: "What is man
that Thou art mindful of him?"
The great impetus to the growth of
Williams College was given by Mark
Hopkins, who became its president in
1836. His zealous efforts for the im-
provement of the college curriculum,
and his great executive ability place
him in the foremost rank of the educa-
tors of his day. During the thirty-
six years of his administration, six
buildings were completed, among them
the Hopkins' Observatory, the first
public observatory to be erected in
America; the quaint, octagonal Li-
brary, and College Hall.
148
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
The old East College was burned in
1841, and rebuilt the following year.
Mark Hopkins was, in truth, the
second founder of Williams College.
"The high rank of Williams as a small
college," says an eminent writer, "is
in large part due to the work and in-
fluence of Mark Hopkins." Himself
educated at Williams, he knew the
needs of the college; a scholar himself,
he understood and sympathized with
those who desired a wider and deeper
range of study and did much to develop
liamstown. . . . The town is built
on a boldly undulating plateau of lime-
stone, which, rising to a considerable
height from the lower ground, affords
magnificent views of the encircling
hills, whose forest-covered crests tower
to heights of three to four thousand
feet. The valley is wholly settled by
farmers ; there is not a manufactory
and hardly a retail shop in the village,
whose pretty, white bungalows rise
from park-like and elm-shaded stret-
ches of turf, while the undulating main
Kappa Ai,pha house
the individual student; an able organ-
izer, he revived a strong and worthy
pride of the college among the students,
and checked the practice of transferring
to other colleges, which had formerly
been so common.
It was during this administration
that a noble English traveler de-
scribed the town thus :
"A charming stage ride of four miles,
following the Hoosac River past the
foot of Greylock, brought me to Wil-
street is bordered at intervals by the
halls, chapel, museum and library of
Williams College. The college build-
ings are for the most part plain and
without any academic air, but despite
of a chapel, like the conventicle of
an English country town, a very
unpretentious library, and a number of
barrack-like 'halls' where the men
live, its romantic situation, park-en-
folded houses, and peaceful atmosphere
place Williamstown easily ahead of
WILLIAMS COLLEGE
149
every other New England village for
beauty." . .
"The Sabbath evening was still and
peaceful as I sat on the veranda of the
hotel, looking, by turns, up the wooded
summits of East Mountain, the Dome,
and Greylock, already tinged with sun-
set pink, around upon the white, lawn-
bordered homes of farmers and pro-
fessors, or down the dusty Hoosac
valley, where a silver thread of water
wound about, and was finally lost sight
some pleasant glimpses of American
youth, and by the bright anticipation
for its manhood to which these
glimpses give rise."
How different is this from the col-
lege of 1810 with its two buildings and
straggling green.
From the beginning of the adminis-
tration of Mark Hopkins, the rise of
Williams College has been steady, yet
somewhat checked by a certain con-
servativeness, not found in other col-
Phi Dei/ta Theta fraternity house
of in the folds of Taconic's forest robe.
On the porch of a fraternity lodge, just
opposite, a group of students, pictur-
esquely disposed, were singing the
evening hymn in harmony, while above
the great, gray hills a rising moon
hung her silver shield against the sun-
set's crimson. Thus the May night
fell lightly as sleep upon a scene of
singular beauty and purity, closing a
day made delightful to me by rest
from labor and labor questions, by
leges. There seems to be a strong
desire that it may retain its position
as a small and somewhat exclusive
college rather than that the growth
should be rapid and the quality of its
men sacrificed. Williams is eminently
a rich man's college; it is, too, the col-
lege of the college man's son. It is
estimated that over eighty per cent,
of the students at the present time are
the sons of college graduates.
If the worthy gentlemen of the first
150
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
Delta Kappa Kpsi^on house
Board of Trustees of the Free School
at Williamstown, who so deplored the
passage of Massachusetts gold into the
coffers of colleges outside the sacred
confines of the commonwealth, if, we
say, these gentlemen had been gifted
with vindictive temperaments and the
power of peering into the future how
they would have rejoiced in the knowl-
edge of their revenge when they be-
came aware that not only were seven
and twenty states, to say nothing of
Turkey and Persia, contributing their
toll to this portal of the highroad of
learning, but that the boys of Massa-
chusetts were, in numbers, but a poor
second to the sons of the haughty
patroons of New York. Of the five
hundred and thirty-seven students
now enrolled at Williams, two hun-
dred and two are from the Empire
State; Massachusetts is represented by
one hundred and ten; New Jersey
sends fifty-two, and Illinois takes
fourth place with thirty-seven. In
order follow Ohio, Minnesota, Con-
necticut, Pennsylvania, Rhode Island,
Wisconsin, Maine, Washington, Indi-
ana, Vermont, Colorado, District of
Columbia, Michigan, California, Mis-
souri, Oregon, Maryland, Nebraska,
New Hampshire, North Carolina,
Texas, Utah, Wyoming, Persia and
Turkey.
As one runs over this list, it is seen
that Williams is not a local institution,
but a college of national importance,
drawing its students from the entire
Union. Why- do these men come —
many of them from under the very
shadows of colleges and state universi-
ties? The reply is, the traditions of
Williams have attracted them, the
manliness of its students, the spirit of
its alumni, the deeds of its sons. In
all these things Williams is rich,
though it is a small college. Its name
may not be forgotten.
Considerable has already been said
about the natural beauty of Williams-
town, yet a few words are necessary re-
garding the college buildings which
WILLIAMS COLLEGE
151
play so prominent a part in the ap-
pearance of the village.
Without doubt, the most striking
building in Williamstown, and the one
which would attract the stranger's in-
I terest quickest, is the Thompson
Memorial Chapel. Situated upon a
rolling knoll and opposite the old
! chapel "like the conventicle of an Eng-
I lish country town," its lofty tower
overtops the elms and dominates the
I town. The corner-stone of this edifice
j was laid in 1903 by Dr. Garfield, and
l| the building completed about two
years later.
This is, without doubt, one of the
most beautiful college houses of wor-
ship in the country. The chapel is
built in pure Gothic style, of light gray
granite, which, against the foliage of
i the trees, give it a singularly light and
fairy-like aspect. It is built in the
usual cruciform plan of church archi-
tecture, with a semi-circular apse,
shallow transepts and a long nave.
The roof is very high as compared
with the width of the edifice, and the
walls lightly buttressed. The tower
itself, with its great arched bell-win-
dows and battlemented summit, is a
thing of the utmost beauty. The in-
terior is even more beautiful than the
outside. One should see it for the
first time, perhaps, at dusk, when the
glowing windows cast their delicate
colors over the dark oaken benches
and upon the marble floor. And if,
perchance, the velvet-toned organ is
rolling its rich purple melody among
the clustered pillars, its mellow notes
soaring into the dim and lofty arches,
it requires no great stretch of imagina-
tion to picture a procession of shadowy,
black-robed monks pacing the dusky
aisles of this old-world chapel.
The interior finish of the chapel is
of gray limestone and the floor of
Tennessee marble. All the woodwork
is of dark oak, carved in imitation of
early Gothic designs. It is seldom that
an idea is carried to such perfection of
detail as here, where even the ward-
robes in the President's dressing-room
are finished in the same pattern and
with the same care as the pulpit.
Not the least notable feature about
the chapel is the windows. These,
with the Hopkins and Garfield memori-
al windows, are the work of John Hard-
man and Company, Birmingham, Eng-
land. They are painted glass. Some
idea of their delicate patterning may
be gained from the photograph here
shown, but it can, of course, give noth-
ing of their richness and harmony of
color. The Hopkins window, which
Wii/ljamstown from Stone hiu.
dL
152
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
Lounging room — commons
has already been mentioned, is in the
south wall of the east transept and of
German workmanship. It is in memory
of Professor Albert Hopkins, brother
of President Mark Hopkins. The
Garfield window, by La Farge, in the
west transept is in memory of the
martyred President, James Abram
Garfield, of the class of 1856, father of
the present head of the college. This
window, unlike the rest, is of stained
glass and "in parts can justly hold its
own in comparison with the best
mediaeval windows for brilliance of
color and harmonious balance of tones."
Both these windows were taken from
the old chapel.
Almost immediately opposite the
chapel are Lasell Gymnasium and
Morgan Hall, a dormitory, both built
of gray limestone in the style of the
Italian Renaissance; the older dormi-
tories are of yellow brick and some of
the most recent have been modelled
after them. All in all, the college
architecture is of a pretty heterogene-
ous sort, comprising everything from
the fine colonial proportions of Griffin
Hall to the Gothic of Thompson Chapel
and the nondescript variety peculiar to
the dark ages in American architecture,
namely, the eighth decade of the last
century, as shown in Hopkins Hall.
Yet all these varied types are under a
charm which does not make them, in-
congruous as they often are, seem out
of place. One thing they do have in
common is a sort of academic restful-
ness and quiet which well accords with
that calm country.
Six years ago a central heating
plant was erected, from which all
rooms in the college buildings are sup-
plied with heat. This, of course, very
materially lessens the danger from fire.
It is to be hoped that an electric light-
ing equipment will soon be established
in connection with the heating plant
In 1896 the "honor system" of con-
ducting examinations was introduced.
That it has been successful, its present
use amply attests. The method of
i
WILLIAMS COLLEGE
153
judgment of suspected fraud is, it
seems, unique with Williams. "All
:ases of suspected fraud are dealt with
by a committee of ten students, in-
:luding representatives from each
:lass, who have the power to decide on
the question of guilt and recommend to
the Faculty the penalty of dismissal
from college in the case of a Senior,
[unior, or Sophomore, and of suspen-
sion in the case of a Freshman." It
s gratifying to know that the com-
mittee is seldom obliged to meet.
In athletics the Williams man has
ilways been recognized as a hard
)layer, but a gentle, manly one. It is
;his spirit that has made the teams so
successful and so popular.
In basketball, Williams has long
:>een putting out one of the strongest
earns in the East, and her football
.nd baseball teams are of such cali-
per that their schedules never lack
james with the big colleges. The ex-
:ellent opportunities for walking and
nountaineering which the Berkshires
)ffer, furnish the means of exercise for
;hose who do not seek the laurels of
ame. Thanks to this outdoor life, there
s little serious illness at Williams.
As to the social side of Williams
ife, the college seems to be just the
•ight distance from North Adams and
Pittsfield to offer the students all the
pleasures of a larger place without
its inconvenience. The fraternities are
a very powerful social factor, also.
Most of them own their own chapter
houses which are fitted with all the
conveniences of a luxurious city club.
Several of them have there own din-
ing rooms where meals are served
to members. Within the last year
the Commons has also been opened,
where meals are provided for one
hundred and ten men. Both table
d' hote and a la carte meals are served,
the prices being kept at a minimum.
With the Commons is conducted a
public lounging room, where fraternity
and not-fraternity men can come to-
gether and prevent the rise of clannish-
ness. It is a wise precaution for there
is nothing more disastrous to a col-
lege than narrowness.
The work of Dr. Garfield has but
begun; never had the world more new
problems coming before it every day.
Never had the executive of a college
a more difficult task than now pre-
sents itself to each college president.
The school must not only keep abreast
of the times but advance a little way
before them. The knowledge of to-
day is the ridicule of to-morrow. We
must not look back.
Weston athletic eiei,d
The Persian Rug
By WILLIAM OLIVER REMINGTON
WE were seated about a little
table in a Chinese restaurant
on Harrison avenue, and
rather expecting a story from the old
ex-attache in whose honor we were
holding our little celebration.
The celestial who had laid our ser-
vice of delicate lacquer ware now stood
at a respectful distance, like an image
carved in mutton tallow.
"You preachers are a strange lot,"
began the old raconteur. "You don't
know anything about, and, what is
more, you don't care a rag for some of
the most interesting things in your
own religion."
The clerical member of our party
lifted his brows inquiringly and the
consul continued :
"If I was president of a theological
seminary "
"Monstrous !" ejaculated the cleric,
but the other ignored him.
"As I was saying, if I was foreman
of a preacher factory, I would import
a good-sized Oriental village and let
the students learn things."
For some moments his eye rested in
silence on a great carved dragon that
adorned the wall, and his mood grew
more serious.
"I never see one of those things
without a shudder," he said, simply.
"They stand for an element in the act-
ual experience of those people. I have
never told you, I am sure, of the last
days of Alice Leighton and the manner
of her death. I have never felt that I
could. You all remember Alice, I sup-
pose?"
Involuntarily we laid aside our ci-
gars, as if the mention of her name had
brought her in person before us. We
recalled the brilliant wedding, the
leave-taking of the youthful couple for
i54
Leighton's foreign appointment, anc
that sad, slow funeral a short si>
months later.
"Mind you, fellows, I don't under-
take to explain any of the things that )
am going to tell you ; and if at an>]
point of my story, which, I warn yot|
beforehand, is a queer one, your curi-|
osity begins to get the better of you!
just remember — it was Alice."
A more effectual appeal for an unin|
terrupted hearing no man could hav([
made ; at least to us, upon whom thf]
beautiful girl had made that lasting!
impression which is as a rich legacy
bequeathed by some rarely-endowec
spirits.
"The particulars are as fresh in my
mind as if it had happened yesterday!
and I am going to tell it just as I rel
ported it at the time to the chief of m)j
department; as it is, I suppose, storecj
away to-day in what must be one o:;
the strangest documents in the archives!
of the State Department.
"Suitable residence property was ai[
that time hardly to be found, even ir|
the Chinese treaty ports, and I n
very glad to be- so situated as to btj
able to invite the young couple to m)
own compound until they should find
something habitable.
"The Leightons, like most new ar!
rivals, were at once seized with a vioi
lent craze for all objects of Orienta;
manufacture, and when they would ge ,
their heads together in a whispering
fashion over some new purchase, ]|
knew that its place had been assigne^
in the future nest. Leighton had mone)i
and his coming was a godsend to th<|
merchants of the place.
"One day they came home intensel)
enthusiastic over the discovery of ar
antique rug whose history must hav<
THE PERSIAN RUG
155
dated back fo the earliest incursions
of the Tartar tribes. Nothing would
do but that I must see it. And I am
free to confess that it was a perfect
mosaic of jewels, soft and brilliant. It
was of what .is known as 'the tree of
life' pattern, but far more intricate of
detail than any of that design that I
had ever seen. The price was fabulous,
but as my unconcealed admiration had
confirmed their determination to pur-
chase it, so my good offices and greater
knowledge of Oriental ways succeeded
in bringing the merchant to reason.
"Not until after the rug had been
Isold and delivered did the old rascal
jpresent himself at our house with
jrather a remarkable yarn. The rug, he
said, was the abode of a 'shie kwei'
j (which is Chinese for demon, or evil
spirit), and that ever since it had been
in his house the spirit had greatly
troubled his daughter. But as the rug
was too valuable to be destroyed by
one so poor as himself, he had not
known what to do. Now we had pur-
chased it, and he thought it right to tell
us of these things, that we might either
destroy the rug or sell it to some one
jelse, if we so wished. When we ques-
tioned him further he could only say
that he supposed that the person who
wove the rug had wrought his own life
|into its warp and woof.
"This notion seemed to us at the
time rather a pretty one, and I am sure
jthat the story added much to the pride
of the new owners of the rug. When
we asked as to the nature of his daugh-
ter's affliction he so described it as to
(give us the impression of a rather se-
jvere case of epilepsy. W T hen he added
jthat since the removal of the offending
rug she was entirely recovered, we
could not but wonder at the strength
of a superstition which was able to pro-
duce such persistent halucinary phe-
nomena.
I "At his leaving we were all a-buzz
with excitement and gaiety. Alice in-
sisted that the rug be brought out of
storage and spread on the floor of my
living-room. To this I was in nowise
loath, as its beauty was of a most ex-
traordinary character.
»•* OUl
"No sooner was it laid upon the floor
than we were again lost in admiration,
both of the separate colors and their
blending as well as of its lustrous tex-
ture. In a moment, like children, we
were on our knees tracing the intricate
patterns and commenting on their alle-
gorical meanings. Alice, particularly,
seemed full of such lore and fairly
bubbled over with enthusiasm.
"She insisted that the rug was the
handiwork, not of man, but of a beau-
tiful slave girl, whose sufferings at the
hands of a brutal master was the story
that was woven, thread by thread, into
the pitiful laboriousness of its design;
while, if it were possessed by an evil-
demon, it could be no other than the
soul of her tormentor, thus forever
bound for the expiation of his sins.
''Into this interpretation Alice en-
tered with so much earnestness that we
all burst into hearty laughter.
"We had not moved from our kneel-
ing posture on the rug, and no one had
spoken since Alice's last word, when
the door opened, apparently without
cause, and immediately closed again — -
not with a jar, as by the wind, but
softly. We stared first at it and- then
at one another, but without comment.
"Scarcely had we pulled ourselves
together a little from the shock of this
occurrence, when, with a peculiar,
sharp movement, the center table was
shifted a few inches, and a costly vase
which it bore fell to the floor with a
loud crash and was shivered to atoms.
"For some reason we never discussed
these occurrences. I cannot but think
that it would have been better if we
had ; but I at least felt a most unaccount-
able reluctance to face the facts, and I
think that the others shared my feel-
ings.
"Alice was the first to recover her
self-possession, and soon had us all in
the highest spirits with her unquench-
able gaiety.
"These incidents, however, proved to
be but the beginning of a long series of
happenings that for the next few weeks
destroyed alike the order and the morale
of our house. Fire broke out in the
thatch of the roof so often and so un-
156
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
accountably that we were compelled to
keep buckets and ladders in continual
readiness. Rattling, jarring and espe-
cially knocking sounds continually dis-
turbed our sleep. Footsteps became
audible in the quiet, and once or twice
we even heard sounds like a low, chuck-
ling, most forbidding laughter.
"More annoying, even, than these,
we would discover foreign substances
and even filth in our very food. And,
indeed, in all the manifestations there
was something not only impish, but un-
clean.
"Of course, the servants talked, as
servants will. We quickly discovered
that our neighbors were accustomed to
look upon the presence of such a fa-
miliar spirit in our house as a family
scandal. And we ourselves began to
be conscious of a sense of degradation
and shame, as if in some way both the
house and ourselves were disgraced. It
was not so much fear that possesesd us
as a deep abhorrence of the disgusting
intimacy.
"Alice all this while outdid herself in
brilliancy. But, closely observing the
girl, I was certain that she was acting
under a suppressed, but intense, excite-
ment, and I became greatly concerned
for her.
"I decided that things had gone alto-
gether too far, and secretly resolved,
upon the very first opportunity, to have
the rug removed and placed in storage,
only awaiting some rational pretence
for such an action.
"Before doing so, however, I deter-
mined to make at least one effort to rid
ourselves of the nightmare, obcession
or whatever it was that possessed us,
for I was unwilling to admit that it
possessed the slightest foundation in
reality.
' 'Alice,' I said, 'let us invite in the
whole American colony and make a big
entertainment — one that will shake the
rafters and be the talk of the town for
the rest of the season.'
"I gave no reason, but secretly I felt
that the diversion of interest, the plan-
ning and preparation, the entertain-
ment itself and the calling that would
follow might change the tenor of our
thoughts, and perhaps entirely remove
the painful notion.
"Alice visibly brightened and took
up at once with the suggestion, and we
entered with the utmost zest into the
planning of a great party.
"For the next few days we were as
busy as possible, and throughout this
bustle of preparation the manifesta-
tions became less and less frequent,
and finally, to my infinite relief, ceased
altogether. Our table resumed its
wonted gaiety, and even the stolid ser-
vants stepped about with a newspright-
liness. iVlice alone became somewhat
depressed, which was a natural reac-
tion from her overwrought state, and
rather pleased both her husband and
myself than caused us the slightest
anxiety.
"Inside of twenty-four hours the in-
cident began to appear like an absur-
dity, and I was ready to introduce it
into our conversation as a jest. To add
to this mirthful feeling one of the old-
est of our servants, an aged but very
faithful Chinaman, retained the terror
that had lately possessed ourselves, and
we were able to see mirrored in his con-
duct the utter absurdity of that which
we ourselves had been doing. Hewould
start and turn at the slightest noise, and
pick up overturned objects gingerly
and suspiciously, fumbling an amulet
that he wore and muttering charms. It
was impossible not to laugh at his lu-
dicrous terror over the most ordinary
occurrences.
"Once I inadvertently caught my toe
in the edge of the rug, and, stumbling,
fell forward, dislodging any amount of
small belongings.
" Wee Ling let out a most terrible
shriek and fled from the house at top
speed ; nor were we able to persuade
him to return for many hours.
"Early on the evening of the enter-
tainment we all partook of a light sup-
per together. Suddenly, while we were
seated at the table, I noticed that Alice
was seized with an uneasy feeling — an
uncontrollable restlessness.
"With a quick glance I called the at-
tention of her husband to her peculiar
actions.
THE PERSIAN RUG
157
" ' What is it, Alice ?' he inquired. But
she only stared at him with eyes wild and
half-devoid of recognition. Then she
arose, pushing back her chair with the
quickness of her motion, and held out
her hands appealingly. In an instant
we were both at her side.
" 'What is it?' I cried, moved as never
before by a sense of impending horror.
She pushed us both back, at the same
time swaying and staggering toward
the door, until her husband gently re-
strained her.
" 'Alice!' he shouted. _ 'Stop!- Sit
down! Where are you going? What is
it? What can I do for you?'
"Swaying feebly and clasping her
hands to her head, she gasped in a dry,
forced utterance :
"'It!' We shuddered. I stepped to
the sideboard for a glass of wine, but
stopped as I heard her trying to speak
again. Finally, slowly and with infinite
effort she managed to articulate :
" 'It is telling — me — to — do — what —
I — will — not — do.' The words came
with a tense, suffocating sound that
was most distressing to hear.
"Then I saw her lips move again in
a curiously mechanical way, as though
she were no longer in control of her-
!self, but were a mere automaton moved
by the exercise of mechanical force ;
and the voice that came forth was not
hers ! As yet we knew scarcely a word
of the native tongue, but enough to
know that the words spoken were no
more Chinese than they were English,
but a Semitic tongue.
"All this while her countenance was
(changing. While I stood transfixed
(with horror she turned on her husband
a look of indescribable repugnance that
brought a cry of pain to his lips, for he
most dearly loved her. A rigor seized her
|limbs and she fell, panting, to the floor.
"Rousing myself, I threw myself on
my knees at her side. Assisting her
husband, I chafed her wrists and he
loosened her dress at the throat. Yet
we could do but little.
"Somehow we felt that the darling
gprl was struggling for her very life
with an antagonist against whom we
were utterly powerless. Her limbs
were motionless. It was not with bod-
ily strength, but with all the might of
her will, that she was fighting as if
against some foul and horrible embrace.
"Finding that we could expect no
assistance from the panic-stricken ser-
vants, we quickly carried the sufferer
to a couch, while I went for wine or
a glass of cordial — I scarcely know for
what, for I had a stupefied feeling that
nothing could be of the slightest avail.
"When I re-entered the room I saw at a
glance that the struggle was over. There
was no mistaking the meaning of that
marble stillness. In a transport of grief
and rage I staggered forward to where
her husband's figure crouched against
the couch, his head buried in the folds
of her dress.
"As I did so there arose from her
body, and particularly from her lips,
a murky emanation — as it were, a visi-
ble breath — that took to itself form
and the semblance of a face — ruthless,
evil, obscene.
"With a cry I sprang toward it, but
my hands, that would have strangled
a giant, closed on emptiness.
"Looking down at Alice, I saw with
what of joy could be left that her
features had regained their natural
sweetness of expression, as if, through
the veil of death, she was telling us
that, whatever may have been the na-
ture of that struggle and though at the
price of her life, the evil spirit had been
cast out, leaving her our unstained Alice.
"My eye caught sight of the rug.
Poor little slave girl of Persia, I
thought ! How fearfully, after so many
centuries, have your wrongs been
avenged !"
As we left the place (for no one felt
like commenting on the consul's story)
we could hear the shuffling of feet in
the dim, unlighted halls, — that curious,
muffled scrape of the Chinaman's foot-
gear, — and it was not until we had left
the district and its strange inhabitants
far behind us that we looked from one
to the other as if to ask if it had all
been real.
The old consul laughed bitterly.
"They are queer," was all that he
would say.
The Apollo Club of Boston
By ETHEL SYFORD
MOST clubs- or organizations
are, to a cetrain extent, a sign
of the times — blackboards, as
it were, whereon a community chron-
icles its demands, its smiles of approval
or its discontent. Every little while
Father Time chooses for them a new
mask, and they must wear it at least
occasionally.
They hold out their hands to the hoi
polloi, — they themselves are of it, and,
whether they will or no, they are a
more or less variable function, — a de-
rivative, as it were, of the breath of the
people.
In the case of musical organizations,
which are, in a way, a power in the
community, we may find several whose
standards are high and of exacting or-
der, whose achievements are annually
excellent and worthy, and to whom an
appreciative public always bows in re-
spectful recognition. But when we at-
tempt to subject them to analysis there
is just a bit of disappointment and a
tinge of the commonplace at finding
them a composition of amalgamated
atoms which must ever be fanned into
life by a master baton.
Their current of life would stop
should the sparks cease to fly from the
magic stick.
I mean no disrespect when I say that
on various occasions of most excellent
performances of these hoi-polloi organ-
izations of heterogeneous atoms, when
I have seen a conductor struggling
with one of these amalgamated masses,
I have felt that there was a certain gro-
tesqueness, an undignity, so to speak,
about it all. Their efforts are usually
extremely successful. However, it all
seems not unlike the king in the role of
gooseherd, with whip high in hand and
158
himself out of breath, trying to driv I
his flock into a certain compartment. ,
You may have already objected tj |
my referring to these organizations a
of the hoi polloi. You will argue tha
having rigid requirements of time, ton
and rhythm and other adequacies c
high standard and attainment, they ar
not to be decried. Even so, they ar
to be much lauded. I am merely tryin| '
to draw a dividing line of difference b(j
tween the organizations composed cj
music-lovers, music-followers and mij
sic-workers who are able to pass mm
ter into membership, and those few 01
ganizations which are of a more disj
tinctive familia, and whose electorate
presupposes time, tone and rhythm an
is concerned with the spirit of art an
the innateness of taste and refinemen!
It is to this distinctive familia type thzj
the Apollo Club of Boston belongs, an!
it is this insistence upon the innatel;
refined which engenders in an orgaii
ization of the latter type salon-like po: \
sibilities.
If I were going to speak sweeping!!
I should say, without fear, the three e:
sences of American artistic reftnemei
are the Apollo Club of Boston, tlj
Kneisel Quartette and the Boston Syri
phony Orchestra. The two latter u
right of the quintessence of master) 1
achievement; the Apollo Club of Bo|
ton by virtue of its achievement and j
distinctively Bostonian esprit de corps a
well. The spirit of this organizaticj
is unmatched. One is conscious in
stantly that its audience is entirely t\
rapport with itself. It is a most unusu
atmosphere of absolute sympathy, an
a distinctive salon-like eclat marks tr
Apollo Club of Boston as unique.
Not only is the club composed of ii
THE APOLLO CLUB OF BOSTON
159
vited members, but its audiences are
composed of invited subscribers only.
This prime characteristic of Apollo
concerts has existed since the begin-
ning of the organization.
The Apollo Club of Boston is now in
its thirty-ninth year. It was founded
n 1871 ; the Chickering Club, a group
of twelve men singers, forming its nu-
cleus. The practice of giving concerts
Dnly to in-
ni rited guests
vas a char-
icteristic of
;he Chicker-
k ngClub. To
1 :his nucleus
si were added
nore than a
score of in-
erested and
enthusiastic
levotees, and
|it the close
3f the last
preliminary
m e e t i n g a
lub of fifty-
wo members
1 a d been
o r m e d .
\mong the
lumber were
Mien A.
Brown, who
swell known
In this coun-
try and in
Europe as an
ndefatigable
:onnoisseur
)f music and
uusical literature; Dr. Samuel W.
jvangmaid, a well-known physician;
George H. Chickering, of piano fame;
\rthur Reed, an earnest, experienced
bid untiring worker; Charles James
^prague, bank cashier, poet and Ger-
nan scholar, who did the translations
or the use of the club, and many
>thers.
Mr. B. J. Lang, the well-known mu-
ician, was the first conductor. He con-
inued as conductor of its choir of men
rom its beginning in 1871 to his volun-
Benjamin J. Lang, first conductor
tary retirement as conductor in 1901,
whereupon he was made president of
the club. From the first it was a group of
intimate and sympathetic followers of
art whose artistic tendencies had been
highly cultivated. The Apollo Club of
Boston sprang out of and was a part
of the salon days of Boston. In its be-
ginning it might well be called a salon
of musical culture whose distinguish-
ing peculiari-
ty and pur-
pose as set
down in the
by-laws, was
the practice
and perform-
ance of part-
songs and
choruses for
male voices
and the culti-
vation o f a
refined taste
in this class
of music. It
sprang from
Olympus, —
from that
fragrant inti-
macy of con-
genial, intel-
lectual and
refined com-
radeship
which was
generous and
unp r e c i p i-
t a t e , and
which the
few old Bos-
tonians who
remain realize has well-nigh passed.
And it is a passing of spirit as well as
of flesh.
Perhaps no remaining function of
•that period has as well preserved its
pristine contour and intent as has the
Apollo Club of Boston. It not only
was but is one of the choicest plants of
the artistic florescence of Boston's
Olympic Hill of that while now forty
years past. It has refused to feed upon
aught but the warm sunshine emanat-
ing from the sons of that same Olympic
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NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
Emil MOI^IvKNHAUER, present conductor
Hill. It is that tenure to old proper-
ties, as it were, that constant claim
which it has always made for the aristos,
which has preserved it as unique, dis-
tinguished and cherished.
At the time of the first informal con-
cert, on September 5, 1871, there were
fifty-two active members, and but one
hundred and ninety-three on the asso-
ciate list. This first concert was a great
success, and the associate list soon
numbered the restricted five hundred.
These associate (non-singing) mem-
bers have the privilege of purchasing
tickets for the concerts of the club.
There has also existed an honorary
membership, composed of persons dis-
tinguished for their interest in the pur-
poses of the club, or who have rendered
it valuable service. This membership
numbers four — Allen A. Brown, Arthur
Reed, B. J. Lang and Mr. Chickering.
The first president, who remained in
office for eleven years, up to the time of
his death, was Judge John Phelps Put-
nam. Following him were such repre-
sentative men as Robert M. Morse,
Hon. John Lathrop, Colonel Arnold A.
THE APOLLO CLUB OF BOSTON
161
Rand, Solomon Lincoln, George H.
I Chickering, Charles S. Hamlin and_B.
J. Lang. None of these were active
members. In 1904 Courtenay Guild
was elected president, and since that
time the club has realized and reaped
I the marked advantage of having an
active and working president who is
filled with an enthusiastic and generous
interest in its welfare and who pro-
motes its every interest. A genial hu-
manism and genuine generosity and
a kindliness which is unusual, charac-
terize Mr. Guild and make him loved.
His is a most fitting nature to preside
over this band of brotherly good fellow-
ship.
! Horace J. Phipps, the present secre-
tary, is a veteran active member. Mr.
Arthur Reed, the ■ original secretary,
B filled the office for twenty-five years.
In the intervening period Mr. Henry
Basford filled the office until his death.
He was succeeded by Mr. Albert Har-
low. Mr. Phipps has been secretary
for the past eight years. The office of
secretary invests its holder with a
(great burden of responsibility. The
issuing of notices of every sort and im-
portance are dependent upon him, and
with a large associate list the task is
not a small one for an otherwise busy
man. Glancingover some of the calls to
rehearsals, etc., sent out by Mr. Phipps,
one finds some especially clever ones,
and he has been an indefatigable and
unusually efficient worker in the club's
behalf.
The following is an example of his
efforts to clinch the memory of the
actives in obeying the call to duty :
"One hundred and eight years ago,
on St. Valentine's day, Napoleon said
'Apollo is perfect' ; two weeks ago Emil
Mollenhauer said 'Not quite.'
"To make Napoleon's statement true
it will be appropriate to have a little
brushing up of the dusty parts on Sun-
day, the fourteenth, at three-thirty
P. M."
| Mr. Emil Mollenhauer, the director
llt . of the club since 1901, stands among
re . the foremost of his profession. Too
se much could not be said in regard to
^ b.is efficiency as a conductor, or of his
masterly skill in interpretation. In the
case of the Apollo Club of Boston the
instrument which he has in hand is an
alert and knowing band of voices, but
every praise is due to Mr. Mollen-
hauer's efficiency and subtle command.
At the present date the officers of the
club are: Courtenay Guild, president;
John K. Berry, vice-president; Horace
J. Phipps, secretary; Thomas H. Hall,
The seat, oe the Apoi,i,o Cujb
treasurer; W. F. Littlefield, librarian;
Emil Mollenhauer, conductor; H. A.
Dennison, chairman of the voice com-
mittee; George L. Parker, chairman of
the music committee.
The last concert, given in Jordan
Hall, on February 16, was the two hun-
dred and sixth concert of the club. The
first formal concert of the Apollo Club
of Boston was given in December,
1871. From that time four formal con-
certs have been given each winter. In
the earlier days each concert was re-
peated at least once, and there were
public rehearsals, one each month. Even
these latter were attended by invita-
tion, and became events of first musi-
cal importance locally.
The first concerts of the organiza-
tion were given in old Music Hall.
An account which refers to the first
formal concert in 1871 says: "Music
Hall was packed with an audience com-
posed of the elite of Boston." The re-
port of the critic refers to the strong,
resonant and fine quality of the voices,
the light and shade, delicate pianissimo
swelling into a storm of power with beau-
tiful, smooth gradation ; the clear, crisp
162
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
enunciation of all the words as with
one voice; the mingling and wielding
of the transitional expression as though
one mind directed it. A glance at the
chronicling of the critics on down to
the present time reveals a most uni-
form set of decrees. Perhaps no other
club has been so constant in its attain-
ment of refined excellence. Article
after article down the years refers to
the more than apparent atmosphere of
good-co m-
radeship b e-
t w e e n per-
formers, con-
ductor and
audience.
On No-
vember 9,
1909, the two
hundre d t h
anniversary
concert was
given in Sym-
phony Hall.
The club was
assisted by
Miss Gerald-
ine F a r r a r
and the Bos-
t o n Festival
Orchestra. It
was a mem-
orable event.
Just before
the second
part of the
concert the
president o f
the club, Mr.
Courtenay
Guild, made
a graceful
and humor-
ous speech,
in which he paid tribute to the past
services of Mr. Lang and Mr. Mollen-
hauer, the present conductor. Mr.
Guild, with a few clever and well-
chosen remarks (among which: "Al-
though of the Apollo I need not apollo-
gize for this") presented Mr. George
C. Wiswell with a silver loving-cup.
Mr. Wiswell is the only original mem-
ber of the club who is now actively
Program cover design by H. A. Dennison
connected as a singer, and who has
sung in all but one of the concerts
which have taken place since its or-
ganization.
This two hundredth concert was the
first departure of the club from entirely
quasi-private performance. It was a
thrilling occasion, marked by the mu-
tual loyalty of new friends to old and of
old friends to one another.
Aside from the distinguishing fea-
tures of this
club, which
have already
been dwelt
upon, its very
nature makes
it unique,
and to pass
in review its
over two
hundred pro-
grams i s t o
gaze upon an
especial cor-
ner of mu-
sic's flower
garden. This
corner is for
men's voices
exclusively,
a n d so t h e
growth can
never be a
luxuriant
one. But it is
aglow with
deeply and
richly reso-
nant color-
i n g s. Mu-
sic for male
voices is usu-
ally referred
to as limited.
Yes, and no. Yes, where the reference is
to the quantity of it. But upon reflect-
ing upon the uniquely vibrant buoyancy
one feels during the lifting up of the
voices of a choir of over seventy
men, I would rather say that such
music is only sensitively characteristic,
and that the rarity of its beauty is most
subtly dependent upon attuning and
alertly sensitive refinement. Such an
THE APOLLO CLUB OF UOSTON
103
organization is acutely related to the
solo viola or even the solo 'cello. In
these cases the critic should not be-
moan the sparsity of literature, but
realize, demand and laud the acute
musicianship necessary to make the
performance of such works refined and
without the rough edge of clumsiness.
Even granting the sparsity of such
literature, — literature for male voices,
for solo viola or even solo 'cello — there
is vastly more of it than amateurs and
even the average professional can ex-
ploit with finished grace and fluency.
After a concert by the Apollo Club of
Boston you have realized an artistic ex-
ploitation characterized by virility and
finish and life, and you ransack the mu-
sician's technical pigeon-holes and pull
out resonance and excellent rhythmic
attack and wonderful shading, from the
most delicate pianissimo to a storm of
volume and the ensemble as of one
voice. It might be interesting, if not
advantageous, to just feel its deep,
dusky reds and its gleams of golden-
yellow brilliancy as a vitally psycho-
logical emanance. Love songs, drink-
ing songs, tramping songs, songs of
glee — they are all experiences lived
right out of the lives of any man in any
age, either in spirit of desire or of actu-
ality. The subject matter of music for
male voices, for viola, for 'cello, is the
music which comes nearest to being
the cry of the human soul. The music
for women's voices and for soprano
violins is concerned with poetic im-
agery and idealistic fancy. Even the
lullaby is not universally a feminine
experience to which every woman is
vitally alive. Love, to a degree, and
comradeship, to a degree, is an experi-
ence of every man. A chorus of men's
voices is really a symposium of broth-
erly experience. Ergo, the resonance
and verve of rich, red blood. Add to
this the blue blood of refinement of
this particular fellowship which I am
considering, and lo! the royal purple
of artistic polish and acute sensitive-
ness to subtle niceties which the critics
always accord its every performance.
The program of the one hundred and
ninetieth concert, given in Jordan Hall
on February 21, 1906, contained an in-
teresting feature. Six ancient folk-
songs of the Netherlands, from a col-
lection written in 1606, were given.
They are stirring songs out of the lives
of men struggling for free breath.
There is a mood of sorrow and one of
war; one of tender parting and of dar-
ing and the thanksgiving of hearts that
have bled. On the same program is
''Three Glasses," by Fisher; "Minstrel
Song," by Zauder; "A Hymn," by
Mohr, and a "Valentine," by Horatio
Parker.
The concert of November 16, 1905,
contains memorable numbers — Krem-
ser's "Hymn to the Madonna," — and
Bruch's "Frithjof" cantata is another
of their massive accomplishments. At-
tenhofer's "Storm" is also a number
which is tremendously impressive.
This and "Sunday on the Ocean," by
Heinze, are among their most effective
numbers,
A very worthy achievement was the
rendition of the Wagner "Knights
of the Grail" chorus at the Boston
Svmphony Pension Fund concert in
April of 1906. The "Soldier's Chorus,"
from "Faust," by Gounod, has been
given several times, of course. At the
one hundred and ninety-fourth concert
in February of 1907 the "Rhapsodie,"
from Goethe's "Hartzreise im Winter,"
by Brahms, was given with contralto
solo and piano and organ accompani-
ment, and the club proved its power to
interpret this nobly eloquent and im-
pressive work.
. The assistance of orchestral accom-
paniment is many times noted. In the
early days, it is said, B. J. Lang's sug-
gestion of such co-operation was an-
swered by some heads which shook
negation at him, because they did not
wish their hard labor and effective
achievements to be "drowned out by a
band."
At the one hundred and ninety-
eighth concert the "Hymn" by Arch-
bishop O'Connell, "Pracclara Custos Vir-
ginium" was given with tenor solo and
organ and piano accompaniment. The
rendering it received made Father
O'Connell's music most eloquent. The
164
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
club has also given, with full orcehstra
and for the first time in Boston, Men-
delssohn's "To the Sons of Art," "An-
tigone" and "Oedipus at Colonus,"
Max Bruch's "Roman Song of Tri-
umph," Hiller's "Easter Morning,"
Brahm's "Rinaldo," Whiting's "Free
Lances," "March of the Monks of Ban-
gor" and "Henry of Navarre," Bram-
bach's "Columbus," Paine's "Sum-
mons to Love" and "Oedipus Tyran-
nus," Foote's
"Farewell to
Hiawat ha"
and Nicode's
"The Sea."
Several of
these were
written for
the club, be-
sides smaller
works and
single c h o-
ruses for
male voices
and orches-
tra, by Wag-
n e r, Strong,
Gernsheim,
Schumann,
Sullivan,
Beethoven,
Raff, Gold-
mark, Rubin-
stein, Ber-
lioz, innu-
merable part-
songs of Ger-
man, French
and English
origin, and
many by our
own com-
posers — ■
Paine, Chad-
wick, Lang, Whiting, Buck, Foote,
MacDowell, Osgood and others.
Among the soloists who have ap-
peared are : Richard Arnold, Gustav
Danreuther, Fritz Giese, Thomas Ryan,
Camilla Urso, Ernest Perabo, Ovide
Musin, Carl Faelten, Leopold Lichten-
berg, Adele aus der Ohe, Xaver Reiter,
Giuseppe Campanari, Anton Hekking,
Maud Powell, Lilian Blauvelt, Alvin
Program illustration for King Olaf's Christmas
by Dudley Buck
Schroeder, Henri Marteau, Marie Nich-
ols, Franz Kneisel, Josef Hoffmann,
Max Heinrich, Johanna Gadski, Pol
Plancon, David Bispham, Mme. Szu-
mowska and Geraldine Farrar.
The club in its earliest times was
called upon to join in public functions
of distinction. The first occasion of
this sort was at the funeral services of
the Hon. Charles Sumner in Music
Hall, April 29, 1874.
On June
17, 1875, the
club assisted
at the ser-
vices around
the m o rt u-
ment in cele-
b r a t i o n of
the one hun-
dredth anni-
versary of
the battle of
Bunker Hill.
Again, on
June23,i877,
they gave a
concert in
honor of
President
Hayes, who
was visiting
Boston then.
The homes
of the club
have been va-
rious, each,
h o w e v e r ,
with the gen-
eral charac-
acter of hav-
ing a music-
room for re-
hearsals and
a set of rooms
for social enjoyment. For a time they
met at the Hallett's music-rooms on
Tremont street ; then for a longer time
they were in the Chickering building;
also in the Chickering Hall building on
Huntington avenue, and at present at
Three Joy street.
Interspersed between the programs
are frequent sheets which chronicle the
occurrence of dinners and suppers and
THE APOLLO CLUB OF BOSTON
165
other jovial appeasings of the inner
man. There is many a clever turning
of verse written therein. The "Hymn
Before Action," by Kipling, becomes
as follows :
Him After Auction
His mind was full of anger, his eyes
were red with wrath ;
He walked along the Common and
stamped along the path.
Three hours he'd been in auction-
rooms — it was his first offence ;
He failed to get the Persian rug — his
bid was fifty cents.
At the supper following the one hun-
dredth concert of the club, in 1886,
some of the leaders of. the club were
sketched in humorous and brotherly
fashion by Arthur Reed, the original
secretary. Pie refers to himself as a
well-meaning scribe, but an ever-pres-
ent thorn in the flesh and whipper-in.
Referring to Henry M. Aiken, he said :
"The gleeful, of whom it is- rumored
that as he lay in his cradle on the sec-
ond day of his life he was heard to lift
up his voice, singing, 'Beauties, have
you seen a toy,' followed immediately
with 'Which is the properest day to
drink?'"
On this same occasion Mr. Reed
mentioned the fact that it was a rather
odd coincidence that the club was
formed in seventy-one; "that we now
have seventy-one active members, and
that every one of that number was pres-
ent at the one hundredth concert given
last evening (December 21, 1886)."
The club was incorporated in 1873
by a special act of the Legislature, dur-
ing the presidency of Judge John
Phelps Putnam. Robert M. Morse, Jr.,
was the five hundredth associate mem-
ber elected in 1871, and was the second
president, and is still a regular attend-
ant at the concerts. With his election
the limit of associate membership pro-
vided for by the by-laws was reached,
and for the twenty years following
there was a waiting list, and that is the
case to-day.
Among the names on the list of the
original fifty-two members is that of
Henry Clay Barnabee of "The Bos-
tonians" fame ; also Myron W. Whit-
ney, the great bass.
The club has acquired a musical col-
lection of no small proportions. Aside
from this source to draw from, they
have always had access to the une-
qualled musical library of Allen A.
Brown (which now occupies a spacious
room in the Boston Public Library).
Mr. Brown served for years on the
music committee.
A reprint of the program of the first
concert given by the Apollo Club of
Boston in Horticultural Hall on No-
vember 7, 1871, may be of interest :
"Spring Night" Fischer
"Cheerful Wanderer" Mendelssohn
"I Long for Thee" Hartel
"Praise of Song" . . . Maurer
"Soldier's Farewell". Kinkel
"Serenade" Mendelssohn
"Loyal Song" Kucken
"Lovely Night" . .Chwatal
"Miller's Song" Zoellner
"The Voyage" Mendelssohn
"Serenade" . Eisenhofer
"Rhine Wine Song" Mendelssohn
The advent of quartettes, orchestras
and other musical organizations fur-
nished a competition which had to be
combatted, but the Apollo Club of Bos-
ton has always held its own in achiev-
ing excellence and in demanding atten-
tion and support.
Since the presidency of Mr. Guild
and the secretaryship of Mr. Phipps
began, an eyer-increasingly active ar-
dor and enthusiasm has illuminated the
organization. The active members now
number nearly eighty men. And not
only these eighty men, but their five
hundred associated friends and also
their unassociated allies, realize that
the Apollo Club of Boston has always
been, and is, and more than bids fair to
be, one of the most constant and refin-
ing and cherished influences of Bos-
ton's musical history and of her artistic
and intellectual life.
w&j \
The wharves oe Gloucester
Le Beau Port
THE SEA-BROWNED FISHING TOWN OF GLOUCESTER
By JAMES R. COFFIN
Illustrated from photographs by H. W. Spooner
OF the above titles, the first is
that by which Gloucester Har-
bor was, with singular felicity,
descriptively named by the great
Champlain in 1606, this being his sec-
ond visit to the point which he consid-
ered one of the most important, strate-
gically and commercially, on the coast.
The sub-title is from the pen of the
Rev. Cotton Mather, who in 1680 vis-
ited the colony, which at that time had
already attained to considerable impor-
tance.
Time has done nothing to change
the aptness of either phrase. Glouces-
ter is still a fishing town, sea-browned,
while its beautiful location attracts
thousands annually, during the months
of the great shoreward migration that
is so engaging a feature of modern life.
From the beginning the Gloucester
fisheries have been a force in the build-
ing of the nation. Passing over the
earlier visits of white men to the shores
of Cape Ann, — the semi-mythical land-
ing of the Norsemen and the romantic
but futile explorations of Captain John
Smith, who named the harbor after the
Turkish lady who had intervened for
the saving of his life and the three
islands from the three luckless Turks
whose heads he had cut off, — we come
to the settlement made by the "Dor-
chester Colony" in 1623.
The object of the settlement, in
which wealthy English gentlemen were
interested, was the pursuit of the fish-
eries, which had been so profitably fol-
lowed on the New England coast since
1606, and for which the location of
Gloucester was and is so eminently
well adapted.
The site of the settlement where was
erected their "stage," or wharf, is that
which is now known as Stage Fort,
and is appropriately held as a public
reservation. It lies just to the south of
the present city, a fair eminence, rock-
girt, and commanding a noble view of
the harbor and the sea beyond.
In 1624 Roger Conant was appointed
governor and the settlement attracted
marked attention. The Plymouth col-
ony claimed jurisdiction over it, and
went so far as to attempt to make good
their claim by force of arms, an expe-
dition under command of the doughty
Miles Standish himself laying siege to
the strongly barricaded quarters of the
independent colony. Conant succeeded
in pointing out the way to peace with-
out bloodshed, and a modus yivendi was
established. The fisheries were suc-
cessful, the first cargoes of Gloucester
fish going to Bilboa, Spain, and prov-
ing very profitable. The agricultural
portion of the colony, however, did not
find the situation so favorable. The
whole region is very rocky and the
amount of arable land small. The
farming part of the community ac-
cordingly moved southward, leaving
167
168
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
The bei^-buoy at Norman's Woe reee
Gloucester a strictly maritime settle-
ment. The name Gloucester, by the
way, had already been chosen in re-
membrance of the beautiful English
cathedral city from which so many of
the adventurers had come.
Thus for nearly three hundred years
Gloucester has maintained its charac-
ter and still ranks as the most impor-
tant fishing- port in America. The sea-
faring life has bred a hardy race of
men, who have played an important
part in our great national struggles;
from Bunker Hill, where two compa-
nies of Gloucester men were engaged
in the battle, and the disastrous cam-
paign before New York City, where
the fishermen of Massachusetts, by
their firmness and intrepidity, saved
Washington's army from annihilation,
to the late Spanish war, in which
five hundred Gloucester fishermen re-
sponded to the nation's call for skilled
mariners.
This long period of continuous de-
velopment along one line is unique in
American life, and confers upon
Gloucester a stamp of individuality
that is as interesting as it is unusual,
at least on this continent.
The growth of the city has been re-
markably even. In 1873, after two hun-
dred and thirty-one years of corporate
life, the town government was changed
for a city charter. The present popula-
tion of the city is about 33,000. It is
thirty-three miles from Boston on the
Gloucester Branch of the Eastern Di-
vision of the Boston & Maine Railroad,
and is the metropolis of the great
North Shore summer colony.
This summer life is certainly an im-
portant and growing feature of the
place. Cape Ann, surrounded by water
on three sides and perpetually swept by
ocean breezes, is virtually free from
fog, and its cool, clear atmosphere af-
fords grateful relief to the city toiler.
It is said that among the earliest sum-
mer visitors to this district were the
Brook Farm Transcendentalists, who
made Pigeon Cove the point for their,
annual summer pilgrimages, doing the
distance from Boston by stage — a long,
hard, day's journey — and that was only
seventy-five years ago. To-day it is
an easy hour's ride, and at least fifteen
thousand people annually seek its salu-
brious summer climate and the refresh-
ment afforded by its scenic beauty and
varied recreations.
But what of the fisheries? Have
they prospered? Are they followed
to-day with the old-time vigor and en-
terprise?
I think that the contrary has been
generally reported and believed. As a
matter of fact, Gloucester-cured fish is
a very much finer product to-day than
it ever was, and the market is a grow-
ing one. The business is carried on
by a number of very strong firms, and
their trade is national in its scope. The
method of conducting the business has
unquestionably changed, and, as is al-
LE BEAU PORT
169
ways the case, the period of transition
and adaptation to new conditions has
been one of depression. But the past
year has been one of the best that the
Gloucester fisheries ever knew, and
there is every reason to believe that
this is but the beginning of a new era
of prosperity.
There are three principal reasons for
the renewed prosperity of this ancient
trade. The first has already been re-
higher price for the product than they
would if a portion of it had to be sold
at a reduced price. In the packing of
the fish, also, the scientific spirit of the
age has introduced many improve-
ments. Formerly it was not practica-
ble to attempt to sell packed fish in the
summer months. To-day Gloucester
packed fish products keep in perfect
condition throughout the summer
months. And this lengthening of the
Cape Ann Light, showing "Mother Ann" on the extreme point
ferred to. It is the improvement of the
product. The packers no longer ac-
cept fish from the vessels unless they
are in prime condition. Formerly fish
were graded and cargoes that were in
a very bad condition could still find a
sale at some price. The adoption of
stricter regulations has resulted in no
hardship or loss to the fishermen, for
they are simply compelled to take
greater pains to properly, salt and pack
their catch on board and receive a
season is the second element that en-
ters into the growing prosperity of the
Gloucester fisheries.
The third important factor in this
growth is that the great packers have
entered upon a campaign of advertis-
ing that introduces their product into
thousands of homes where it was for-
merly unknown as an article of diet,
and this extension of the market seems
to possess almost limitless possibilities.
But will the fisheries be able to
170
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
The winter rig oe the Gloucester schooner
supply this increased demand? Un-
questionably, yes. The fish are in the
sea, and granted a market that will
make their catching- and packing remu-
nerative, there will be no difficulty, and
never has been any difficulty, in secur-
ing them.
As the question of feeding the im-
mense human population of the globe
becomes more and more acute, so tre-
mendously important an element of
diet as that of packed fish will assume
larger and larger proportions in our
national balance sheet. It is an inter-
esting fact that to-day practically the
entire Gloucester catch is sold to the
home market. There is practically no
export trade in Gloucester-packed fish,
for the simple reason that the home de-
mand absorbs the present supply at
the present price; but the supply could
be enormously increased at a very
slightly increased price.
The prosperity of Gloucester is
founded upon that bedrock foundation,
a primary article of world dietary.
It has been quite widely believed by
those who are only cursorily informed
that the Gloucester fish business has
been and is being steadily transferred
to Boston. This idea is founded upon
misinformation. Boston to-day, and not
Gloucester, is the centre of the fresh fish
trade. Gloucester still is, as it always
has been, the center of the fish-packing
business.
In this connection a few items of sta-
tistical information will be informing.
Considerable pains have been taken to
make the following figures authorita-
tive. They are furnished in part by
Mr. Arthur L. Millet, the expert sta-
tistician and commercial reporter of the
fisheries ; Mr. J. E. Lenhart, wholesale
fish dealer and chairman of the publici-
ty committee of the Board of Trade.
The Gloucester fishing fleet numbers
about 275 sail, with a gross tonnage of
about 22,000 tons. Large fishing
schooners predominate, but there are
many small craft; also small steamers
and gasoline propelled craft. Some of
LE BEAU PORT
171
the large vessels and quite a number
of the smaller craft are also fitted with
gasoline auxiliary power.
The fishing grounds frequented by
Gloucester vessels extend from Cape
Hatteras to Greenland, and the length
of trips varies from a day or two for the
little boats to five and six months for
some of the larger vessels which go for
salt cod or "flitched" halibut, the latter
up among the icefields and icebergs of
the Labrador coast and Davis strait.
These figuresforthenumberof vessels
at this port do not include small craft
under five tons, of which there are many.
The fisheries have been prosecuted
here since the place was founded, but
records of earlier losses have not been
accurately reported. Since 1830 the
figures are as follows :
Vessels lost 779
Tonnage 41,757
Value $3,952,996
Insurance $3,035,058
Lives lost 5,304
Widows left behind 1,064
Children left behind 2,144
From this it will appear that in a pe-
riod of eighty years the entire fleet has
been practically lost three times ! These
are solemn facts that throw a very
vivid light on the dangers that sur-
round the fisherman's calling. In an
editorial paragraph in our New Eng-
land Department will be found tabu-
lated statistics of the catches.
It will be but a small number of our
readers to whom the Gloucester fishing
schooner is not familiar. This swift,
staunch and beautiful craft is the crea-
tion of these fisheries. Her great
strength and stability tells of the dan-
gers in the midst of which the fisher-
man's calling is followed. Her speed
tells of the shrewdness and "smart-
ness" essential to success. Her gen-
eral rig and style tell of the ingenuity
and inventiveness of those who devised
this instrument for the conquest of the
boisterous northern seas. No better
or more beautiful craft ever sailed on
any sea.
The manning of these vessels is by
crews who work on a co-operative sys-
tem that is both interesting and in-
■m
A TYPICAL GLOUCESTER SCHOONER UNDER EULL SAIL
172
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
The Eeakes. Drying sai/ted Eish.
structive. Each man on board the boat
takes -his risk in the result and his
share of the success of the trip. These
shares are known as "lays." The sys-
tem is a survival of the shares which
the original adventurers took in the
founding of the colony, and it is a case
of the survival of fitness.
It is more than doubtful if any other
system of payment would result satis-
factorily. The business is one in which
the individual workman needs the in-
centive of his own profit, for every-
thing depends upon his energy, cour-
age and skill. The game that he plays
is one that requires a kind of fortitude
and daring that is only bred of such an
independence and sense of being his
own master as this system produces.
Whether or not the cash receipts are at
the end of the year equivalent to wages
may be a subject of endless discus-
sion. vSo much depends upon so many
ifs. Certain it is that it avoids all dis-
putes and breeds intelligence, inde-
pendence and manhood. Rough men
these Gloucester sailors may be, but
they are manly fellows. They certainly
lift the lid a little when they come
ashore from a long trip ; but there are
some things that they do not do, and
those things are such as might be
grouped under the general heads of
meanness and cowardice.
The old Yankee stock has very
largely prospered out of the work, if I
might be permitted to coin such an ex-
pression. They have made enough
money to educate their children to
callings involving less hardship, and but
few of them are found aboard the fleet
to-day. The crews are largely recruited
from the descendants of the Scotch and
English settlers of Nova Scotia. They
become naturalized Americans, for they
cannot hope to become the masters of
vessels otherwise, and they recruit our
population with a shrewd, hardy and
honest body of men racially the same
as our older Yankee stock. There are
a number of Portuguese fishermen in
Gloucester, and they are very highly
thought of, too, but of other nationali-
ties there are very few.
Thus co-operatively manned, and
her decks piled high with nested dories
LE BEAU PORT
173
or the great seine-boats, and her hold
laden with ice or salt or both, our
beautiful schooner stands out for the
Grand Banks or the treacherous, un-
charted coasts still farther to the north,
her canvas all set and drawing — a
beautiful picture. More space than we
have at our disposal would be required
to describe the manner of taking the
fish.
The cod fishery, which is the staple
industry, is pursued with hook and line,
with trawls, gill-nets and with jiggers.
The greater part of the cod fishing is
done with a trawl. The trawl is a long
line from which shorter hooked and
baited lines 'depend. At each end of
the trawl is an anchor, and a buoy or
marker by which to locate the trawl,
which is kept very near the bottom.
Trawls are baited and coiled in tubs
and set from dories, usually manned by
two men, the lines being skilfully
tossed overboard by a little flirting
fling with a short stick. The usual
equipment of a large vessel carrying
ten dories, is six line-tubs to each
dory. Each line is 300 feet long and is
fitted with from 80 to 100 hooks; so
that, with all trawls set, a vessel is
covering over 20 miles of fishing
ground with some 30,000 hooks.
This method necessitates the dories
being at considerable distances from
the vessel, which is often left to be
handled by the cook alone; and it is
this disposition of the crew that is the
principal source of the loss of life.
Next in importance to trawling .is
seining with the purse seine, which is
the usual way of catching mackerel
and sometimes of other fish.
The purse seine, as the name indi-
cates, may be drawn together by a cord
that is reeved into it top and bottom.
The mackerel seine is about 225 fath-
oms long and is set from a seine-boat,
which is a kind of large whale-boat of
a peculiar Gloucester design. After a
school of mackerel is sighted the crew
take to the oars, and the game is to
row swiftly enough to surround a good
proportion of them with the long net,
which is paid out as the men row in a
circle and quickly gathered up with
the pursing cords before the fish have
an opportunity to escape. Mackerel
are a fish of very peculiar habits, and
there is much speculation of late as to
the sudden disappearance of the great
schools from their usual haunts.
Whither they have gone no man can
tell, or at what moment they will sud-
denly reappear.
The lobster-man and his mate
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NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
The gill net, as the name signifies, is
a net that is left suspended in the water
for a considerable time, until many
fish become enmeshed by the gills.
Under some conditions the simple
hook and line are used, each man hav-
ing his position along the rail of the
vessel. "Jigging" is fishing with an
unbaited and unbarbed hook, which is
let down (two hooks being fastened to
the same line and held apart and
leaded) into schools of fish, which are
caught by a quick, jerking motion of
the hand. Sword-fishing is done with
a harpoon, and is an exciting and dan-
gerous employment. The fish some-
times weigh as much as 700 pounds and
fight desperately. Good swordfish sto-
ries are part of every fisherman's
equipment. They do not have to be
invented.
The methods used in the curing and
packing of fish are full of interest.
Cleanliness and prompt handling are
the great requirements. On all the
longer trips now the fish are cured on
board the vessel. They are split open,
fresh from the water, cleaned, thor-
oughly washed, and packed in pure sea
salt. When a sufficient catch is made
the vessel promptly sails for Glouces-
ter, where the fish are removed from
the vessel, washed and packed in hogs-
heads holding about 1200 pounds each.
Thus they are kept to await the de-
mands of the trade. When needed they
are taken out,, washed again, piled up
in "kench," a process which presses out
a great part of the pickle. Then they
are taken to the "flake yards," where
they are spread out, each fish by itself,
flesh side up, and dried by sun and
wind — a process in which the climate
of Gloucester excels. This process
calls for experience and judgment, and
the excellence of the product depends
upon its being properly done.
The first step in the packing of the
dried fish is that of removing the fins,
backbone and skin. It requires expert
workmen and much skill. The next
step is to pull out the remaining bones.
This is done with pincers by hand, the
work being carried on by youngwomen
under the most cleanly conditions.
There remains but to cut the fish into
the required lengths and to pack it into
the neat cartons, wrapped in waxed
paper, in which form, "absolutely bone-
less" and perfectly cured, it is mar-
keted.
Mackerel are cured aboard the ves-
sel and repacked in Gloucester into
barrels of about 200 pounds each, in
which form they are marketed. Of late
there has arisen quite a considerable
business of selling extra choice mack-
erel in the original package, for which
purpose the finest fish are taken and
packed in smaller packages.
Smoked herring are handled in the
winter months, the business having
very large proportions. They are
brought from Newfoundland lightly
salted in the hold of the vessel. They
are then soaked out and hung in the
smokehouse until cured to that rich,
golden brown tint that has made the
Gloucester product famous. They go
all over the country under the name of
"smoked bloater herring."
Another very important article in
the line of cured fish is smoked halibut.
These fish are caught off the danger-
ous Labrador coast by the trawling
method. They are cured and sliced
aboard the vessel. The vessels engaged
in this trade usually leave Gloucester
in May and return to Gloucester in
September. The slices or "flitches" of
fish are taken from the vessel at
Gloucester and stored in pickle until
needed. Then they are taken out,
washed and a good part of the salt
soaked out, the waterpressedoutandthe
pieces hung in the smokehouse, where
they are subjected to the curing process
from a smoke that is made by smoulder-
ing fires of sawdust and oak chips.
If this brief account of the Glouces-
ter method of packing and curing fish
shall have conveyed an idea of freshly-
caught fish, firm-fleshed from the cold
northern Atlantic, promptly cleaned
and salted and carefully packed under
the most cleanly conditions, it will
have left a correct impression of the
preparation of a very important Ameri-
can food product whose market is con-
stantly increasing.
LE BEAU PORT
175
A number of very large and impor-
tant firms are engaged in the business.
The Gorton-Pew Fisheries Company,
which has been established by the
union of several large concerns, has
done a great deal for the enlargement
of the market for Gloucester-packed
fish. By judicious advertising and di-
rect contact with the trade the con-
sumption of cured fish products is
greatly stimulated. The Cunningham
& Thompson Company are large own-
ers of vessels and very large packers,
make a specialty of selling high-grade
packed fish direct to the consumer.
This is a very important and growing
line of business, in which others also
are profitably engaged, notably the
Consumers' Fish Company, of which
Mr. E. K. Burnham, secretary of the
Gloucester Board of Trade, is the man-
aging proprietor.
The Davis Brothers Company pro-
duce a number of brands and sell to the
wholesale trade exclusively.
William F. Moore & Company,
. , . -
ITERN POINT ROADWAY
putting up a number of well-known
brands. William H. Jordan & Com-
pany are the owners of some of the
finest vessels in Gloucester, including
the Oriole, which is the crack fishing
schooner of the world. In last year's
race from Belle Isle she beat every-
thing else by many hours. The firm is
an old one and its brands are well
known and synonymous with excel-
lence.
The Frank E. Davis Fish Company
wholesale fish dealers, seek to develop
the export trade. The Gold Bond Pack-
ing Company are successful developers
of the high-grade hotel and family
trade, while the Gloucester Salt Fish
Company are both producers and job-
bers in a broad line, including all of the
usual Gloucester products, and Charles
F. Warsar & Company deal in fish spe-
cialties for the high-class grocery
trade. Hugh Parkhurst & Company
are producers and wholesale dealers
176
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
• V ',: :
Gloucester's attractive High
.ding
who make a specialty of Georges
tongues and sounds and Georges slack-
salted pollock.
Naturally, these men get together for
the common good, and the Gloucester
Board of Trade affords them the op-
portunity for so doing. A committee
of the board, meeting regularly, estab-
lishes the price to be paid for fish from
the vessels, a practice which tends to
eliminate the old scramble from wharf
to wharf, which was more entertaining
to outsiders than profitable to the par-
ties concerned.
Mr. Thomas J. Carrol, manager of
the Gorton-Pew Company, is president
of the Board of Trade. Mr. Fred A.
P;erce of the Cunningham-Thompson
Company, vice-president, and Mr. Ed-
ward K. Burnham of the Consumers'
Fish Company is secretary and treas-
urer. The board is active in many
ways useful to Gloucester. It engages
in general advertising, issues a most at-
tractive book on Gloucester, and seeks
to develop the city's commercial inter-
ests along all lines. Industries seeking
a location favorable for manufacturing
would learn much to their advantage
by communicating with them. It is
doubtful if equally available sites for
manufacturing or a practical port of
entry with established shipping can be
found anywhere else within the same
distance from Boston at anything like
the same cost. Indeed, Gloucester has
free sites to offer to firms that mean
business.
The Business Men's Association, of
which Mr. Chick, a large real estate
dealer, is president, also works for the
advancement of Gloucester's interests,
particularly of the summer business,
and the city government may always
be counted upon to co-operate.
There are already established in
Gloucester many forms of manufact-
uring outside of the fish business or
closely allied to it.
One of the most important of these
is the Russia Cement Company, which,
as the manufacturer of Le Page's liquid
glue, is known the world over. The
high quality of the product of this firm
is evidenced by the fact that their make
of glue for the use of photo-engravers,
a very exacting trade, is the world's
standard. The process of manufacture
is exceedingly interesting. Nothing is
wasted. That which cannot go into
LE BEAU PORT
177
glue is sold to the manufacturers of fer-
tilizer. The industry affords a profit-
able use for the by-products of the
packing industry, and is a very impor-
tant feature of Gloucester's industrial
life. One may go through the Russia
Cement Company's plant from end to
end without the slightest inconven-
ience from those odors which are sup-
posed to be inseparable from the manu-
facture, in so cleanly a manner is the
work conducted. Not the least impor-
tant feature of the success of the work
is the neat form in which the glue is
packed for the use of the small con-
sumer and the skill with which the
product is advertised.
The Robinson Glue Company is an-
other very large producer of liquid fish-
glue of high grade for all purposes.
Formerly this firm sold only to large
consumers and to the wholesale trade.
Recently they have extended their mar-
keting methods to include the small
consumer, and have entered upon a
campaign to put their goods before the
public in that form.
E. L. Rowe & Son (incorporated),
sail-makers and ship-chandlers, origin-
ally established for the supply of
Gloucester shipping, have extended
their business far beyond these limits.
They are particularly widely known at
present for the manufacture of Rowe's
Gloucester bed hammock, a ' popular
veranda luxury.
One of the largest plants in Glouces-
ter is that of the Gloucester Net &
Twine Company, which has success-
fully extended its market beyond the
Gloucester demand, and is to-day doing
a business in all parts of the world.
It would be obviously impossible to
even mention all of the industries lo-
cated in a city the size of Gloucester.
The above have been particularly men-
tioned because of the very direct way
in which they have developed from the
fishing industry of the city. The same
may also be said of the manufacture of
oiled clothing by the Boynton's Im-
proved Process Company and by the
Gloucester Oiled Clothing Company,
the C. R. Corliss & Son Company, the
L,. Nickerson Company and the J. H.
Rowe Company.
While nothing could be more whole-
some and natural than this develop-
ClTY HAU. AND DALE AVENUE, GLOUCESTER
178
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
ment of manufacturing out of the by-
products of the fishing industry and to
meet its needs, there is an opening for
other lines of manufacture in the city,
which is most advantageously located
for any general line of manufacturing.
The early farmers of Gloucester
found, as we have previously intimated,
that they had indeed cast their lot on
a "stern and rock-bound coast." They
did not realize that some day those
very rocks would be farmed more prof-
itably than a kindlier soil. The granite
industry of Cape Ann is a very impor-
tant asset for Gloucester. It is a very
durable and beautiful stone, and has
been employed in many of the proudest
structures in the country. It is also
splendidly fitted for paving, as it is ex-
ceedingly durable and non-absorbent of
moisture, which makes it a very sani-
tary form of pavement.
The fine old city of Gloucester is by
no means absorbed in its industrial life.
There is a broad and fine development
of social activity along the lines that
minister to the higher life. There is a
very fine choral organization in the city ;
an active camera club that produces
work of unsurpasesd artistic merit — for
which, indeed, it has unsurpassed op-
portunities ; two public libraries, a fish-
ermen's institute, master mariners' as-
sociation, a most excellently conducted
working-girls' club, and many other in-
stitutions that are unique and possess
Gloucester individuality, besides those
usual to all New England communities
and excellent churches and schools.
Again and again we find ourselves
returning to the topic of the beauty of
the district. Gloucester scenery is not
to be surpassed by that of any seashore
point in the world.
There is a warmth and range of color,
a softness and clarity of atmosphere
and an endless variety of detail that has
won for it the love of a very large artist
colony, including many of our leading
American painters. If a more delightful
place for summer residence exists, we
have yet to discover its whereabouts.
The Sawyer free library and Unitarian and Congregational churches
The White Mask
By F. WILBOR BROOKE
AS usual, he was down among the
rhododendrons.
There were fifty of them, —
glorious hybrids of sturdy Catawbiense
stock, grafted to cuttings from all over
the world — Nepaul, the Himalayas, the
Alps.
On the veranda his young wife,
dreamily looking out over the broad ex-
panse of the valley, occasionally turned
her eyes to where her husband remained
so idly busy among the great shrubs.
She had married rich, as she had al-
ways meant to do. She believed also
that she had married for love; but she
had no idea that life could be so empty
and meaningless up there in the great
park of Glencairn.
Slowly the minutes dreamed them-
selves away.
It began to grow dark. Soon it
would be time for dinner and they
would be sitting face to face, alone,
and, for the most part, silent. After
dinner the inevitable opera or chance
callers— the Pettigrews, perhaps.
Upton Hallowel, with his perpetual
and puttering uselessness, was a fixed
argument against the development of
an "American aristocracy." Mr. Petti-
grew, with his eternal pomposities of
cheap wealth, was a perpetual argu-
ment in is favor.
After the call they would step out
again to the veranda, arm in arm, and
watch the lights of the city in files and
battalions march out to their long night
watches. That was always pretty, but,
like everything else which Upton Hal-
lowel touched, it had become too much
of a function.
To him, doing the same things in
the same way never seemed to become
tiresome. Firmly convinced that the
Hallowel things were the best things,
and that the Hallowel way of doing
them was the best way, he appeared to
find a childish satisfaction in their end-
less repetition.
Minnie believed that she was just as
true to their first love (she was very
sure that there had been such a thing)
as he. But her nature required the ex-
citement of action. It was only be-
cause she was inexpressibly bored, so
she persuaded herself, by the life that
they were leading that her hand would
hang so listlessly on his arm, and that
it was so difficult for her to conceal a
yawn over his tender moods.
Hallowel had returned to the ve-
randa now and made a lover-like place
for himself on the arm of her chair.
She drew aside for him, permissively,
but wearily. To him, on the other
hand, nothing could have been more
utterly satisfying. The soft neglige of
her habit pressed warmly against his
knee. The lustrous fabrics that she
wore, and their exquisite make, were
luxuries afforded by his indulgence.
The white hand that lay nervelessly on
her lap was encrusted with costly jew-
els that were his gift, and little did he
realize that in the heart of the woman
at his side that soft, feminine yielding
was divided by so slender a line from,
the bitterest repugnance. Even now
he was playing, and playing rather
roughly, with its delicate balance, and
it was only the exertion of her will that
preserved the equilibrium.
"I hear that Jimmy Marquand is
coming home," he said.
She received the information list-
lessly and made no reply. Then two
little pink spots stole into her cheeks.
But, after all, what of it ! They would
179
180
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
meet formally enough at some function
and afterward he would call. There
would be a little joking, over old mem-
ories, a few stories of his achievements,
a few warm congratulations on her suc-
cess and happiness, and that would be
all. Yet, somehow, she dreaded that
inevitable meeting, and, as if thereby
forestalling it, leaned more receptively
toward her husband's caresses.
"Do you know/' he said, "something
in the air to-night reminds me of our
excursion up the Nile?"
The reference was a fortunate one.
On that occasion a beggarly robber fel-
low, caught in the act, had turned at
bay with a weapon drawn, and it had
been Upton who had met the situation
with a promptness and nerve more to
be expected of a man of another
mould.
Now she snatched eagerly at the re-
membrance and patted his arm grate-
fully. She felt the balance swing a little
in his favor, as she so thoroughly be-
lieved that she wanted it should do ! If
he would only help ever so little !
"Upton, do you remember the rob-
ber?"
"That I do— the tatterdemalion."
"You won something of me — of the
real me — then. And just that much
stays won. Just that much of me is
really yours and always will be."
"How quickly the brag went out of
him!"-
"Yes; you outfaced him in a twinkle.
You are not afraid of ruffianism — that
I saw and know. And just so much of
me as feels a need of protection from
ruffianism is yours ; but that is not
much, for I seldom fear. There is a
great deal more of me than that, and
it is just aching to be won. But I don't
suppose that you would think it worth
your while?" Playfully, she reached
up her hand, turning his face toward her
and passing her fingers through his
hair. And Hallowel understood her
mood, but not her meaning. Had he
grasped the latter, he would have been
indignant; but as it was, realizing her
receptive tenderness, he put his arm
about her and drew her toward him.
"I am more than satisfied," he said,
"with what I have."
"Which is rather a compliment to
my behavior than a reading of my
heart, and that is what, somehow, I
feel that I want you to do. I think
that you would not like it if you did,
perhaps. But I know that if you read
it all you would see that it .is heart, and
that what it wants is honesty, — simply
to be all yours as really as I am partly
yours."
"I thought that a woman was won
before she was married."
"Sometimes; but more often she
marries in the hope of being won. I
used to long for all this." She moved
her hand in a wide circle that indicated
the wealth of Glencairn. "I thought
that it would surely win me." Wrapped
in the delicious, caressing tenderness
of her mood, he was still unmindful of
her meaning.
"And it surely has," he said. She
bit her lips and hesitated. Yet she was
not willing to give up. Not that she
would have thought it best that he
should see the whole truth, but if he
might catch an inkling- of it — enough
to put him on his mettle and lift him
out of his dullness, his indolence and
the long, low, sullen fits that they bred
— it might save her faith in her own
loyalty to him. There was a touch of
desperation in her mood. She was
struggling to retain toward her hus-
band a feeling, the retention of which
lay very close to her self-respect. She
straightened herself in her mental
eagerness, and in doing so withdrew
herself a little from him.
"Things never really win a woman-,
Upton. Not if she is a woman. Noth-
ing ever really wins but the strength
and goodness and truth. Sometimes
other things seem to, but it is only for a
little while. You may have all of these
things and more, but it is doing that
shows them. They never can appear
so long as you are satisfied to spend
day after day scratching around
among the rhododendrons. And in
the meanwhile what of me? Am I not
worth a little effort — am I not worth
THE WHITE MASK
181
as much as they? You see, Upton, I
have, too, rather a hard place and
I am asking help. Am I in the
wrong? '
"In the wrong? Why, no. I do not
understand why you feel so strongly
about the rhododendrons; but if you
do, I'll have Jack dig them up to-mor-
row. I am not sure but that I am tired
of them myself. As to the winning of
you, I don't know just what you mean;
but don't worry, I am perfectly satis-
fied." She smiled in spite of herself at
his simplicity.
To her, born of a strenuous line of
the old New England stock, nor ever
far removed from the privations and
toil of narrow circumstances, posses-
sion was synonymous with achieve-
ment. It was a thing needed to be
maintained ; to be won and held with
equal endeavor. Not that she con-
sciously viewed her relation to her
husband in this light, but so basic was
the principle to her character that un-
consciously she cherished a certain re-
sentment against the air of proprietor-
ship which he was wont to assume.
To Hallowel, on the other hand, pos-
session signified not achievement, but
right. Achievement smacked of the
market and vulgarity, but possession
was a very dignified thing, into which
a man came by inheritance. It was
the very essence of security. Endeavor
was its antipode. It was not in his na-
ture to understand her present atti-
tude.
She continued: "I see that I must
talk to you as I would to a child. Well,
then, suppose I told you that out by
the golden-glows on the old garden
path there was a bold, relentless rob-
ber, as bad as that one on the Nile, and
that he was there to steal something
of yours, — well, say that it was myself
he wished to steal! Suppose that I
tell you that he is there, and that I am
terribly, terribly afraid of him, would
you do something to help?"
"Do you mean to say, Minnie, that
you have seen something in the garden
to frighten you ?"
"I have not seen, Upton, because I
have closed my eyes and refused to
see. But I know that it is there."
"That what is there?"
"Memory."
"Memory?"
"Upton, I wish to be honest with
you. You mentioned a name just now."
"A name? M — m, Jimmy Mar-
quand?"
"Yes."
"What of it?"
"The old garden walk."
"Oh, I know. You and Jimmy used
to walk there; but you were children
then, and if I am willing to forget I
should think that you might be."
"Willing, Upton ? More than willing !
But if I need a little help, is it wrong
for a wife to ask for that?"
"I do not think that I catch your
drift."
"And I am afraid that I have alreacFy
spoken more plainly than is right. I
have trespassed "
"On my good nature?"
"No. On your stupidity — forgive me,
Upton !"
"What is it that you want me to do?"
"I heard that you intended to spend
the day to-morrow transplanting rho-
dodendrons."
"I did— or, rather, I do "
"You know that tomorrow is elec-
tion day. You know that there is a
great struggle betwen those who would
rule and those who would rob. You
know that if Marquand was here he
would be down in the city, to-morrow
doing a man's part in the fight. We
live in a world of men, not of rhodo-
dendrons."
"I think that I prefer the rhododen-
drons."
"And I am afraid that in the end that
is just what you will get."
There was nothing left but to con-
ceal her vexation. She had opened her
heart, or at least had tried to, and her
failure angered her. He had not even
cared to see. Perfect trust? Not at all.
Just his habitual serene sense of pos-
session. To his thought she was as
any other chattel, and that she should
IS:
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
have any feeling in the matter did not
seem to "occur to him.
Later, in her own apartment, while
a maid arranged her hair for the night,
her need of expression asserted itself.
''Marie, did you ever read of South
America?"
"Why, yes; a little, perhaps."'
"Is it not a wild country?"
"I think so."
"And' many dangers of beasts and
of climate and of savage men?"
"I have read that in the great in-
terior it is much like that."
"And a man from our own people,
toiling among those dangers for many,
many years, must be moved by some
very strong desire above the common
wish for wealth. Do you think that any-
thing, Marie, could so move a man?"
"For love, men have done as much."
"The braid a little looser please.
That is better. Do you know, Marie,
that many a woman whose outward life
is far above reproach wears from her
wedding day the scarlet letter on her
heart?"
"Ah, yes ; I know that very well ; and
I should think it were easier to wear it
more boldly on the breast."
"If by doing so one might remove it
from the heart? That is not the way of
the world. We are not moved by ideals
— we only talk and write of them. We
are moved by fears. And fortunate are
they whose hearts are naturally cow-
ardly. They fall in without an effort
with the world's morality, for they are
moved by the same force that has de-
termined it. But those of us who do
not fear must choose, and the choosing
is hard and either issue bitter. It is
bitter to wear the fair outside that the
world demands and live the lie within ;
and it is bitter to meet the world's
gibes and reproaches for the sake of a
pure heart."
"You are thinking of the wedding
to-morrow night — of my friend, who
is very pretty and marries the rich mer-
chant, although it is Jean that she
loves. You 'are thinking of her, per-
haps?"
"Poor girl ! Perhaps I am. Good-
night, Marie."
Mrs. Hallowel's first meeting with
Marquand after his return was by no
means as formal as she had forecast.
It was, in fact, very nearly all that she
would have had it to be.
It' was in the old garden walk, where
the late blossoms of the golden-glow
still lingered, that she suddenly found
herself face to face with him. Their
eyes had met and they could not de-
cently withdraw.
"You take the air very early," he said.
"Yes, I do sometimes," she found
voice enough to answer, and she dared
not ask him of his being there.
"I find most things so changed in the
old town that it is pleasant to go nosing
around in search of something that is
not," he said by way of apology.
"Your old friends are not changed,"
she answered bravely ; "and now that
you are here you must come in and
have breakfast with us. Upton !" she
called in a loud voice, "come and see. I
have found a wanderer in the garden,
and we must take him in like good
Christians."
Rigid as marble and as white, she
awaited some answer to her call. Pres-
ently they heard the sound of approach-
ing footsteps, and it soon became evi-
dent that they were those of the young
millionaire. Suddenly, when quite
near, the sounds ceased. He had halted.
Then they heard a low, impatient ex-
clamation, a scraping of the concrete
as he turned sharply on his heel and
the sound of receding footsteps.
Not until those had quite died away
and she began to realize that the situa-
tion must be changed did she steel her-
self to raise her eyes, dreading lest
some uncontrolled softening of her
glance might loosen the floodgates of
speech.
"Ah! — gone!" she whispered; for,
taking advantage of the intensity of
her abstraction, Marquand had slipped
away. Then she turned to meet her
husband.
"Well, Upton," she said wearily,
"you had one more chance and you de-
THE WHITE MASK
L83
clined it. Now it is as I said : You
have your rhododendrons."
"Where is Marquand?"
"On his way to South America."
"He said so?"
"Oh, no ! Nothing was said. You
did not come and he has gone. Did
you imagine, Upton, that anything else
could have happened? Oh, don't
trouble to frame an answer ! I only
wish to make sure that you know all.
He came and he has gone."
"And if he had remained?"
"It is as I said : You have your rho-
dodendrons."
"You will dress now?"
"For the opera, Marie."
"This?" questioned the maid, laying
out her gown.
Mrs. Hallowel made a wry face.
Then she laughed coldly.
"Yes, it may as well be that." Then
she relapsed into a silence from which
the voluble chatter of her assistant was
anable to arouse her, until, dropping to
her knees to smooth the pleatings of
her mistress' skirt, she said :
"We were talking of South America
the other day."
"But we will talk of it no more."
"Ah !"
"Yes, Marie ; I, too, have played the
coward part. I have chosen the Great
White Mask, — the lie that is the pillar
of our social order !"
"The pearls to-night? They are
loveliest on satin. And the ermine
coat?"
BONNY BOY
By ANNE PARTLAN
I.
Can you hear me calling, calling cheerily,
Bonny Boy?
Calling ever soft and low,
Over life's unquiet sea,
Over vale and hill and lea — ■
Bonny Boy!
As I called you long ago
From the heather heme to tea,
Bonny Boy !
Where, ah where, the plans we made,
Years ago we as man and maid?
Far afield, alas, you've strayed,
Bonny Boy!
II.
You must hear me calling, calling tenderly,
Bonny Boy!
Calling you to make a fight.
Your dead soul shall answer me
Through your sodden apathy,
Bonny Boy !
In your clear, child's eye, the light
Was no omen of this night,
Bonny Boy!
Wake from out your shroud of gloom ;
Tell me it is not your doom
In this man to find ? tomb,
Bonny Boy !
The Grange, Its Work and Ideals
By CHARLES A. CAMPBELL
Syn Satirday, I trow that he be went
For tymber, ther our abbot hath him sent.
For he is wont for tymber for to goo,
And dwellen at the Graunge a day or tub. — Chaucer.
FROM the above, with its spelling
of knighthood and falconry days,
it might seem that the grange,
as we generally understand the term
to-day, is an institution transmitted by
the ages. Chaucer lived five centuries
ago, when a "graunge" was a farming
establishment attached to a monastery.
Forty-three years ago, in December,
1867, the society known as the grange
was founded in the city of Washington.
As its name suggests, it is an order of
agriculturists.
It happened in January, 1866, that
Mr. Oliver H. Kelley, a clerk in the
United States Department of Agricul-
ture, was sent upon a mission of some
sort through the South. While there he
was stirred by the general condition of
these states, lately in hostility to the
federal government, and conceived the
idea of a fraternal organization of farm-
ers, North and South. He knew that
the depressed condition of farmers was
not confined to the. South alone. In the
Middle West, though rickety barns
were full of grain, the products were
handled in a way which forced the
farmers to destitution, while merchants
surrounded themselves with luxuries.
Concerning the South, it was said that
the devastated farms bore crops of can-
non balls instead of cotton balls.
From Gettysburg to the Gulf, farms
had borne crops of graves. Everywhere
were grief and bitterness, and that a fra-
ternal organization of farmers would
promote a better feeling between North
and South was the belief of Mr. Kelley.
With six other men, most of whom
184
were clerks in the government service
at Washington, Kelley completed a
well-devised organization based upon
a ritual of four degrees. Resigning his
position, he started on a journey to
Minnesota. Aiming to work his way
west, organizing granges, he succeeded
in establishing at Fredonia, N. Y., the
first grange outside of Washington.
Struggling and hoping, meeting with
far more reverses than successes, the
indefatigable Kelley traversed the prai-
ries of the Middle West. In the North
Star State, his home, he was the most
successful, and Minnesota, soon having
sufficient subordinate granges, was the
first state in which a state grange was
formed.
The decade of the seventies was one
of achievement. Texas and Montana,
Maine and California, all the southern
and middle-western states had state
granges in 1875. It will doubtless sur-
prise younger readers that the southern
states, in the first years of the grange,
had the bulk of membership, and that
New England was the hardest to or-
ganize.
Having now taken a glance at the or-
igin of the order, we may inquire into
its objects — profit and pleasure and the
improvement of farmers as a class. In
the early days its purpose was largely
to bring material benefits, such as prof-
itable marketingand advantageous buy-
ing; but now, while the grange is teach-
ing the farmer to be a more successful
farmer, as concerns the actual tilling of
the fields, it is bringing, especially to
remote sections, a broader and more
THE GRANGE, ITS WORK AND IDEALS
185
charitable life. "In essentials unity ; in
non-essentials liberty; in all things
charity," is a motto familiar to Patrons
of Husbandry.
We find that members of granges are
or have been organized to buy ma-
chinery directly from the factories.
Such business arrangements are local
and too varied for enumeration. In
New Eng-
land, as a
whole, the
chief aims
to-day are so-
cial and edu-
cational. The
grange breaks
up the monot-
ony of the
farm home,
strengthens at-
tachments and
inspires t o a
better man-
hood and wom-
an h o o d. In
Maine, many
subordinate
granges own
their own
halls, b u t i n
thickly settled
districts, like
Massachusetts
a n d Southern
New Hamp-
shire, it is usu-
ally better pol-
icy to hire in-
stead of to
build.
Although a
secret order,
we may be ad-
mitted to some of its working princi-
ples. The following is found in a report
of the United States Department of Ag-
riculture, 1882-83, and in its beauty and
purity is much too good to lie unnoticed
among the tomes of libraries :
"Beginning as the humble laborer,
who clears the forest, or digs the ditch,
or prunes the vines, or turns the sod,
a male applicant for membership is in-
Rkv. Albert H. Wheelock, Marlboro, Mass.
Chaplain of the State Grange
structed that all honest labor is honor-
able, and has the doctrine inculcated
upon him that he must 'drive the very
ploughshare of thought through the
heavy soil of ignorance, and thus pre-
pare the mind for the growth of knowl-
edge and wisdom.' Advancing one de-
gree, he becomes a Cultivator, when
his moral nature is educated and re-
ft n e d by re-
peated assur-
ances that he
who intelli-
gently culti-
vates the
growing plant
is brought in-
to close com-
panion ship
with his Cre-
ator. 'As we
see the beauti-
f u 1 transfor-
m a t i o n of
seeds into at-
tractive plants,
we have but
another lesson
of the w o n-
drous works
of God; and if
the beauties of
t h i s w o r 1 d,
when rightly
viewed, offer
so much of the
magnificence
of the Creator
to charm us
here, what
must b e t h e
sublime grand-
eur of that
Provide nee
above ?' Nor do the lessons of encourage-
ment cease when the Harvester is warned
that he must reap for the mind as well
as for the body, because nature has
made nothing in vain. 'Wherever she
has made a habitation she has filled it
with inhabitants. On the leaves of
plants animals feed, like cattle in our
meadows, to whom the dewdrop is an
ocean without a shore; the flowers are
180
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
Ex-Governor Nahun J. Bachei,der, master of the
National Grange
the elysian fields, decorated with cas-
cades and flowing with ambrosial fluids.'
Hence, the Harvester's duty is to culti-
vate an observing mind.
"But he who harvests must not rest
content until he has by lawful means
attained to some ownership of the
products of his own toil, and thus be-
come a Husbandman, who, while he
was passing practically through the
hardships of a farmer's life, and has had
them emblematically riveted upon his
moral nature, has learned to look with
careful solicitude upon children and
encouraged in them a love of rural life
by making its labors cheerful ; for what
children see makes the most lasting im-
pression on them. 'We may tell them
of the pleasures and the independence
of the farmer's life; but if their daily
intercourse with us shows it to be te-
dious, irksome and laborious, without
any recreation of body or mind, they
will soon lose all interest in it and seek
employment elsewhere. We should
therefore strive to make our homes
THE GRANGE, ITS WORK AND [DEALS
187
Iv. H. Heai,ey, master Connecticut State Grange
more attractive. We should adorn our
grounds with those natural attractions
which God has so profusely spread
around us, and especially should we
adorn the family circle with the noble
traits of a kind disposition, fill its at-
mosphere with affection, and thus in-
duce children to love it.'
"But the attractions of a farmer's
life are not within the keeping of the
Husbandman alone. It is not his ex-
clusive prerogative to fashion and
shape the character of those plastic
youths who in the future are to wield
the destiny of our country. It is the
mother's influence that molds the child
into noble manhood or bewitching
womanhood. Therefore, the founders
of the grange, reverently approving the
Divine injunction that 'it is not good
that the man should be alone,' intro-
duced woman into the order; but in do-
ing so they required her to enter as a
Maid, whose station in the order in-
volves the common and lowly duties
preparatory to advancing to all that is
188
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
Charges M. Gardner, master oE the Massachusetts State Grange
most honorable and useful. As Shep-
herdess she is admonished that it is her
sacred duty to reclaim the wandering,
as well as to keep in safety those in the
fold, and, as Gleaner, to glean only the
good seed, remembering 'that our as-
sociations in life are the fields in which
we reap.' Aud thus, when she reaches,
through the successive degrees, the re-
sponsible position of Matron, she is so-
licited 'to wear garlands of noble deeds
that shall adorn her life on earth and
be crowns in immortality.' "
About thirty-five millions of our
ninety millions of people live upon
farms — homes built upon a foundation
which the first wave of adversity will
not wash away. In the modern ten-
dency toward urban concentration this
solidity of the farm is no doubt often
ignored; and many fail to see the nat-
ural beauty of pleasant hillsides and
pine woods as compared to stuffy shops
and offices. It is very evident that the
grange desires to keep the boys and
girls upon the farms. Yet how many of
the young and vigorous, fondly hoping
that better pastures lie just beyond, are
THE GRANGE, ITS WORK AND IDEALS
189
Clement F. Smith, master oi? the Vermont State Gra:
rushing to the cities ! Given a glimpse
of the city's changing excitement, the
average farm boy is at once possessed
with the idea that his lot is as hard as
nails arid that glorious opportunities
await him elsewhere. His dreams may
come true and they may not.
The army and the navy draw numer-
ous recruits from the rural population.
A few years at sea, with visits at for-
eign ports or army service in the Phil-
ippines, usually unfits the temperament
of the young man, as far as any return
to farm life is concerned. In the navy
he may fire a big gun, a single dis-
charge of which may cost as much as
his father's farm is worth, or he may
cruise around the world ; and these
things tend to make the hills of his boy-
hood seem small and all too quiet.
These young farmers are a direct loss
to agriculture. The grange, which
came into being at the close of our Civil
War, whispering peace, whispers that
message to-day — peace and good-will
upon earth.
Robinson Crusoe, a famous sailor
and afterward as famous an agricultur-
190
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
ist, for a long time lived peaceably
among his grapes and his goats ; yet,
from one unlucky day when he discov-
ered a human footprint upon the sand
of his island, his mind was apprehen-
sive. He worked overtime, planning
and making fortifications; worked
rather more at this than he did at agri-
Wiixiam N. Howard, secretary oE the
Massachusetts State Grange
culture. The savage and the civilized
life are the two extremes, yet nations
seem to be doing much to-day as did
Crusoe. AVhen we read that the armed
peace of Europe since the Franco-Prus-
sian war has cost nearly as much as the
aggregate value of all the resources of
the United States, the figures are so
high that the mind cannot grasp them.
Truly, if all humanity should "drive
the ploughshare of thought through the
heavy soil of ignorance," there would
be no more conflict of arms.
The grange wages no warfare against
classes, nor against interests which are
economically fair. It seeks the great-
est good to the greatest number, and
emphatically insists upon equity and
fairness, protection for the weak, re-
straint upon the strong. Its workers
are among the foremost of our times,
as witness C. F. Smith of Vermont, L.
H. Healey of Connecticut, Gardner and
Howard of the Massachusetts Legisla-
ture and ex-Governor Bachelder of New
Hampshire. These men have for years
devoted much of their time in promot-
ing the welfare of the grange ; and, not
mentioned here, there are other New
Englanders whose grange services have
been as active and as sincere.
Organized primarily for material
benefits, the old idea of the grange was
good as far as it went ; but in these
later years there has been a wonderful
awakening to the fact that the greatest
products of the farm are not merely the
bushels of corn. Growing manhood
and womanhood are the farm's greatest
products; hence, in many towns, we
find a day set apart for juvenile feasts
and frolics, and known as children's
day.
Nor is children's day the only one of
the long year when children are lords
and ladies of the hour. Who has lived
in the country and not attended a
grange picnic? For miles around they
gather, not only Patrons of Husban-
dry and their children, but friends and
their children as well, often represent-
ing several townships. The youngest
romp and race till they are so tired that
they come to mother for rest and quiet
in some shady nook. Not so the older
children ; this is a gala day and must
be enjoyed to its full measure. A ball
game, lunch under the trees, a little
boating, perhaps, and then the sun is
low in the west and all must hasten
homeward.
These days are remembered well by
the youth of the grange; yet picnics,
strawberry festivals and oyster suppers
do not constitute the real social work
of the order. The cordial grasp of the
hand at every meeting, the disposition
to help and love one another, are the
truest tokens of fellowship.
The work of the grange is of such a
nature that its accomplishments can be
THE GRANGE, ITS WORK AND IDEALS
191
cited in only a general way. We may
state, approximately, how many dol-
lars have been saved to the farmers of
the country through co-operative trade
arrangements and through mutual in-
surance companies, both fire and life.
Something definite may be stated in re-
gard to wise legislation secured or un-
wise legislation defeated through the
efforts of the grange ; but to give an es-
timate of what this order has accom-
plished in the development of noble
principles is impossible. To a great
pyramid, with its foundation stones
laid for the interests of a broad hu-
manity and the burial of sectionalism,
we may liken the influence of the
grange. Tiers of stones, near the foun-
dation, were laid in the interest of bar-
ter; as the pyramid rises we might
identify many stones. Through the
grange the Department of Agriculture
at Washington was raised to the dig-
nity of other departments of the na-
tional government, to be presided over
by a Secretary of Agriculture in the
President's Cabinet. Through the
same influence agricultural and me-
chanical colleges were established.
The rural free delivery was largely the
accomplishment of grange workers,
for through intelligent presentation of
the matter to Congress appropriations
were secured. But in this figurative
pyramid the bulk of the stones repre-
sent the development of the highest
enjoyments of the farmers' lives and
the development of the heart.
In the complex affairs of modern
civilization little can be accomplished
without organization of a far-reaching
character. While life lasts we have
our perplexities as well as our pleas-
ures ; well may the farmer profit by
joining the ranks of the Patrons of
Husbandry. Though wagon roads,
rivers and canals are a part of the
transportation problem, the great rail-
way systems hamper or make pros-
perity; in the ruthless destruction of
forests the farmer is injured through
diminished rainfall ; taxation, with all
its ramifications, is of vital importance
— well may these subjects, and many
more, be discussed by agriculturists.
In the broad thought of the grange,
all are tillers of the soil who try to do
life's work well ; who endeavor, in some
honest field of activity, to reap unto
an abundant harvest. The grange
stands, as a great educating force, for
the making of more liberal, earnest and
intelligent fellow-men and worthier sis-
ters, ever seeking out and developing
within its members that which is no-
blest and best.
A
•*,,
^
The road to Chatham runs as straight as iF drawn by a rui,e
The Maritime Provinces— II
By WALTER MERRIAM PRATT
7^ HE road from Digby to Annapo-
lis Royal is good, but the coun-
try is hilly, and at times there is
little room to spare to the edge of a
drop of a hundred feet or more.
The scenery continues beautiful, and
several attractive villages are passed,
with fertile farms and comfortable
homesteads. Three rivers are crossed,
Bear River, Moose River and Eequille.
At the last the roofs of old Annapolis
Royal begin to show up, and then the
green slopes of its dismantled fortifi-
cations, from, which we later watched
the setting sun, merged into a thou-
sand glories as it sank with lingering
twilight into the golden west.
The town itself is a sleepy old place,
quite content apparently to rest upon
its past laurels, and anyone familiar
with the history of this quaint town
can but admit it deserves the rest. It
was for one hundred and fifty years a
kind of football fought for by England
and France.
The French first pitched their tents
here in August, 1605, but it was not
until after 1643, when Sieur D'Aunay
built the first fort, that the century and
a half of bitter conflict commenced.
The present fort has suffered ten
regular sieges and three times has
been captured.
In 1710 it was taken by Nicholson,
and since then it has been held by the
English. It is no longer used as a fort,
and for many years has been allowed
to fall into a state of decay. Instead
of five hundred to two thousand troops,
Sergeant W. A. Daniel of the Canadian
regulars, the caretaker, is the sole oc-
cupant. This gentleman, the veteran
of many years' standing in the English
and Canadian service, is well posted
and points out many interesting de-
tails.
The officers' quarters within the fort
quadrilateral is the only building which
escaped the fire of 1831. It is very
picturesque and artistic. In the ravelin
that protects the west bastion are to
be seen the remains of furnaces where
shot was heated to be used against at-
tacking ships.
The old sallyport is interesting, as
is the magazine in the south bastion,
which was built by Subercase, in 1708,
of stone brought from France by
Bronillan six years before ; but perhaps
of all, the prison in the west bastion is
most interesting. It is a good illus-
tration of the great hardships, priva-
tion and torture which prisoners in
olden days went through.
We spent the night at the Queen
Hotel, close by this fort with the mem-
orable past, and if we did not dream of
Argall, Wainwright, Nicholson and
others, of battles and hardships, it was
because one hundred and twenty-one
miles for the first day was too tiring.
We left Annapolis for Wolfville at
eight thirty the next morning, a dis-
tance of seventy-one miles, through
the Annapolis Valley. The roads are
excellent ; the weather was fine and the
country through which we travelled
has an almost international reputation
for its scenery, and, with the motor
working well, every one was happy.
We met more horses than the day
before, and they were more frightened.
We made it a point to always stop the
car, and, if necessary, the motor. In
some cases one of the party would lead
the horse by; but if the native saw us
in time he would invariably turn into
a field. No accidents occurred during
193
194
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
the day, but there were narrow escapes
innumerable, and we were cursed out
pretty thoroughly and some of the. re-
marks were laughable.
Two elderly women passed us, dis-
daining an offer of assistance. The
horse, after a few preliminary side
steps, made a bolt and circled out
around the machine, the off wheels of
the carriage bouncing in and out of a
six-inch ditch in rapid succession.
"Rotten old thing!" was the ejacula-
tion of one of the women, and "rotten
old things" is just what most of the
"Blue Noses" think of motor cars.
We passed Bridgetown at nine
thirty, a distance of sixteen miles from
Annapolis, and as we proceeded toward
Middleton we were surprised at the
number of colored people. From this
point to Halifax many farms culti-
vated by negroes exist, and we were
told that they are the descendants of
negroes who escaped from the South
before and during the Civil War via
the underground railroad.
Middleton was reached at ten thirty,
and practically the entire population
of the town turned out to see the car,
and we left sooner than intended, to es-
cape the rapid-fire of foolish questions.
Beyond the town the roads became
very sandy, and for ten to twelve miles
are as bad as Cape Cod (Massachu-
setts) roads in olden days. The road
branches out into a series of six or
seven parallel lanes, covering half an
acre. For miles there are no fences,
and the country has the appearance of
a western prairie, minus the cactus
plant. After Auburn is reached the
road again becomes good.
We arrived at Kentville at twelve
forty-five, sixty miles from Annapolis,
and after lunch at the "Aberdeen" we
ran out to Aldershot, two miles away,
where the big military camp is held
each summer. At the time only one
regiment of cavalry and one of infan-
try were in camp. We were cordially
entertained by a captain in the regular
service, who was detailed as an in-
structor, in spite of the fact that the
colonel, to whom we had a letter, was
out of town.
At three o'clock we left for Wolf-
ville and arrived in time to witness a
game of English Rugby at Acadia
University. To an American who has
played football, Rugby is very strange.
Fifteen men, instead of eleven, and
more like a game of association or of
basket-ball than football. It seems,
however, fully as rough a game, and
the men wear much less protection.
We put up at the Royal Hotel. Every-
thing in Canada in the way of hotels
is the "Royal," "The Queen's" or the
"King's," with an occasional Victoria
or Prince George. We found the ac-
commodations rather poor; the name
of boarding house w<3uld have better
suited it. The town itself was inter-
esting. Besides the university, there
are several preparatory schools and a
number of smart-looking shops which
cater for the student trade.
Wolfville is built upon the site of an
old Acadian town, and contains many
relics of these unfortunate people.
About the town cluster points of
beauty and places of historical inter-
est. To the west is clearly defined
Cape Blomidon, which terminates the
great North Mountain. To the south
is the valley of Gaspereau, while to
the east are the broad fields of Grand
Pre and Minas Basin, where a race of
people were finally gathered, to be
banished from the country they had
inhabited for one hundred and fifty
years. The stories of the expulsion of
the Acadians are somewhat contradic-
tory, especially as told by the present
inhabitants of this part of Nova Scotia,
and the unsuspecting tourist has many
purely fictitious tales told to him.
It was in 1605 that the French first
settled in Acadia, which then belonged
to France. When Nicholson captured
Annapolis Royal, in 1710, it became a
possession of England. The Acadians
continued to live prosperous and happy
lives under English rule until 1775, when
they were accused of being unloyal to
.he King,because,being of French birth,
they refused to take the oath without
restrictions, and were forced from their
homes by Colonel Winslow and his
regiment, acting on orders from Gov-
J.
THE MARITIME PROVINCES
195
ernor Lawrence at Halifax, and de-
ported to various places along the At-
lantic coast. Their lands left deso-
late, their habitation and buildings
burned to make it impossible for them
to return, and the fruits of their years
of toil and industry left to other people.
At the time of their expulsion there
were about seven thousand Acadians
in the province, scattered among some
thirty villages. About six thousand
were deported; of the one thousand
who escaped into the woods and joined
There were the French willows, a long
line of them on either side of the lane
up which we rode. There were the old
French well, and the depression in the
earth where the Acadian Church stood,
and the great meadows taken from the
sea; but what a disappointment, after
all we had heard about the beautiful
land of Evangeline. There were to be
seen no "forests primeval," and "the
murmuring pines and hemlocks" were
not to be heard. Instead, it was a low
marsh, and but for its history and Long-
l I
The Crucifix appears at intervals throughout New Brunswick
the Indians, many were afterwards
taken and sent out of the peninsula.
^ In the morning we left Wolfville at
eight thirty and ran to Grand Pre, four
miles away, stopping at the Old Cov-
enanter Church, begun in 1804 and
completed in 1818. This church is in a
bad state of decay, and has no especial
historic value, but is a curiosity and is
worth seeing.
At last we were at Grand Pre, the
home of Longfellow's "Evangeline."
fellow's beautiful poem, which throw
a romantic glamor over the place, it
would be positively uninteresting. Time
and the elements are rapidly obliterat-
ing all traces of the Acadians. But a
movement has been started to create a
commemorative park of permanent
character. The idea is to restore the
church, the priest's house, the well and
the cemetery, and to erect a monument
close by to Longfellow, incorporating
a statue of the poet himself. The prov-
196
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
ince can surely well afford to do this,
as his beautiful poem is certainly worth
at least ten thousand dollars a year to
the country. It is an interesting fact
not generally known that Longfellow
had never visited Nova Scotia when he
wrote "Evangeline" in 1847.
From Grand Pre to Windsor we
easily made twenty miles an hour, as
the roads were good. At first Cape
Blomidon, fifteen miles away, stood
out prominently across the blue water
of Minas Basin, and reminded one of
the great cliffs at Dover, and might
easily be taken for them but for the
Halifax it is six feet, while at Yar-
mouth sixteen is the average, Digby
twenty-seven, Parrsborough fifty-three,
while at the mouth of the Shubenaca-
die River it attains the extraordinary
elevation of seventy feet, the highest
in the world.
Windsor is the home of the famous
old King's College, on whose rolls are
names illustrious in Canada and im-
perial history, and the only fault the
writer has to find with the town is for
the fact that she has allowed the at-
tendance of this aristocratic old college
to run down until it has scarcely
The oud Covenanter church, built in 1804
fact that the geological formation is red
"boulder clay," instead of white chalk.
We reached Windsor at eleven
o'clock, and found it the brightest, most
up-to-date and at the same time inter-
esting place we had seen. The tide
was out and for the first time we saw
a harbor without water, vessels resting
high and dry on land, perched on mud
flats twenty feet above the channel.
Nowhere else but in the Bay of Fundy
could this picture be reproduced.
At Windsor the tide has a rise of
thirty-five feet, and on the coast at
enough students to pay to run. Among
the other places of interest is the "Sam
Slick" house, the home of Judge Hali-
burton, often referred to as the father
of Canadian literature, and Fort Ed-
ward, nearly one hundred and sixty
years old. The town has other places
of interest, and, with its golf links and
the beautiful nearby drives, is an ideal
place for a summer vacation.
From Windsor to Halifax we fol-
lowed the Great Western postal road
over Mt. Uniacke, first built between
the French settlement of Port Royal
THE MARITIME PROVINCES
197
and Grand Pre, and extended to Wind-
sor and then to Halifax, upon Gov-
ernor Cornwallis' arrival, as he de-
pended upon French settlers for his
support.
In 1816 the first stagecoach made the
trip from Halifax to Windsor twice a
week, and the round trip fare was $12.
We made it in three hours, but it took
more than twelve dollars out of the
machine. A worse road cannot be im-
agined after the summit of Mount Uni-
acke is passed. The ride up the moun-
tain side is beautiful. It is a steady,
steep climb for three miles, very wild,
with now and then a farm, with a tre-
mendous flock of geese never failing to
amuse us, as their every movement
was systematic. A well-drilled body of
soldiers could not have executed move-
ments better. First it was columns
of four, then by the left flank and
about face, perfect alignment with
heads up, and as we passed all flapped
their wings and screamed in unison.
Great herds of sheep, with an occa-
sional black one bringing to mind Will
Carlton's "The one black sheep of his
father's fold," grazed in the open coun-
try. As we rapidly ascended the moun-
tain, with its perfectly good road, we
little realized the mess which awaited
us on the other side. It commenced
with a few ledges and then a series of
bog holes and places we had to fill up
with rails and tree trunks. Repeatedly
rocks had to be rolled out of the way
to allow the car to pass. For ten miles
there were quagmires and ledges, and
it is remarkable that we at last got
through. After we had once more got-
ten on a good road, but a very narrow
one, which lay along the side of the
mountain, we came face to face with a
four-horse load of dynamite on its way
to a quarry near by. It was a very
embarrassing position,- but as the
horses were not frightened we were
able to back the car some distance to
where the road permitted us to turn
out.
We reached Halifax at three o'clock,
after a run of sixty-five miles for the
day, the last ten being over a fine
stretch of road skirting the Bedford
Basin. At times the road fairly hung
over the water.
The two best hotels are the Halifax
and the Queens. After riding past
both we decided that the Queens was
the better. Both are old, but quite a
sum of money has recently been ex-
pended in remodelling the latter.
Halifax is the capital of Nova Scotia
and the largest city in the Maritime
Provinces. It impresses one as being
much larger than it really is. Although
it is the objective point for thousands
of American tourists, it is very English
in many ways, probably because it has
so long been a garrison town, being
the chief British military and naval
station in America, and because its
commercial relations have been so in-
timate with England.
We spent the remainder of the after-
noon in going over our mail, which had
been forwarded to the general delivery,
and in equipping ourselves with swag-
ger sticks and other souvenirs typical
of the place and its people. We also
took a short trip about the city and
outlying districts in the car. As in the
smaller places we had visited, the ma-
chine attracted attention, and we found
out later that it had pretty thoroughly
advertised our arrival. In the evening
we visited a vaudeville theatre, the bill
including, as our program asked us to
believe, "Jim" somebody, or rather the
funniest man in the world; the Messer
Sisters, having the reputation of the
best act in vaudeville; Miss Winnie
Vincent, the mocking bird, and so it
went. Everything was bigger and bet-
ter than ever before.
The next morning friends of friends
of our party arrived at the hotel with
the keys of the city, and for two days
and most of two nights we were on the
jump. If anything was missed, we
were perfectly willing to leave it to
others when we departed on Sunday
morning. The pace which Halifax
hospitality sets would make the most
hardened New Yorker seek a sanato-
rium. Clubs, theatres, dinners, yacht
races and hodge podges, if the reader
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
The Penobsouis Vaeeey, a dangerous peace to travee at night
knows what they are, in rapid succes-
sion, until it would make even the most
blase "sit up and take notice." We
started out in a very quiet, matter-of-
fact way by visiting the government
building ; were shown the Legislative
Hall and even sat in the speaker's
chair. Next came the Natural History
Museum and the Dominion building;
then the Government House and a very
old and intensely interesting Episcopal
Church ; after this the City Hall, where
we met many city officials ; in fact, all
along our way we were introduced.
With the addition of the police com-
missioner to our party we were taken
through the Public Gardens, consisting
of fourteen acres of trees, flowers,
fountains, lakes and cool and shady
walks, equalling, in proportion to its
size, the best parks in the largest cities
of America and Europe.
We next found ourselves on the
water front inspecting dry docks and
marine railways, and going through
great ship chandlery warehouses. To
the person interested in these things
nautical Halifax is the place" to go:
steamers arriving and departing at all
hours of the day and night, and every-
thing from a ferryboat to a warship
or a fishing smack to a fine yacht.
Soon we were being shot down the
harbor in a motor boat, around the
point and up the Northwest Arm, to
a bungalow, for lunch ; back to the city
again; more sights; then to one of the
clubs for tea, or Scotch and soda, as
you preferred. After this there was a
dinner somewhere and a theatre party,
and the management extended an in-
vitation for us to come behind the
scenes. The cafes are closed at ten
to the stranger, but as guests of the
first citizens nothing was closed. It
is very simple; a bell is rung, up goes
a slide like that in lodge doors ; a magic
word is spoken ; back come bolts and
bars, a rattle of chains, and the door is
opened.
All day Saturday this cyclone of hos-
pitality continued. We visited friends
at the Wellington Barracks and
climbed to the Citadel, which is built
upon the top of a hill two hundred and
fifty feet above the harbor. The forti-
fications were commenced by the Duke
of Kent in 1800, and a mint of money
has been spent on alterations and im-
provements since ; but in spite of this
they are now obsolete. Of course, the
view from the Citadel is the finest to
be had of the city and surrounding
country. To the west is what is known
THE MARITIME PROVINCES
199
as the Northwest Arm, a body of water
three miles long by a quarter of a mile
in width, which, with the harbor, out-
lines the rocky peninsula on which the
city is located. To the south and east
is the harbor, which narrows as it
reaches the upper end of the city and
extends into the Bedford Basin, with
its ten miles of safe anchorage, being
navigable its whole distance. Directly
across the harbor may be seen the
town of Dartmouth, while in the har-
bor are two fortified islands, George's
Island, near the city, and McNab's
Island, at the entrance, three miles
away. We were told that a thousand
ships could safely anchor in the har-
bor, which we believed. We were also
told that the hill upon which we stood
was built by hand, and that an under-
ground passage connected George's
Island with the mainland, which we
did not believe.
The one o'clock gun interrupted a
sight which, once seen on a clear day,
will not be forgotten, and which can
never be word-painted. At three
o'clock we were at the Royal Nova
Scotia Yacht Club, the leading club
of its kind in Canada, finely located
and beautifully appointed and full of
trophies and souvenirs, which recalled
the pleasant exchange of courtesies
with clubs like the New York Yacht
Club and the Eastern and Corinthian
of Massachusetts.
The final race of the season was to
start at three thirty, and the club, its
grounds and its floats were, figura-
tively speaking, alive. We were in-
vited to sail on one of the boats, the
"Nomad," but refused, as we knew
we would be a handicap ; but our hosts
insisted and we went. The race started
on time and the squadron ran to Leop-
ards Rocks, then to Ives Knoll and then
out to the entrance of the harbor, each
boat having to jibe on this leg, and after
coming about the stake a reef had to
be taken in the mainsail — no easy task
in a piping wind — while the boats
made for McNab's Cove, anchored,
furled sails, and then at a given signal
made sail and proceeded to moorings
of the. club. Our boat took second
honors, and it is hard to say who was
more pleased — the owner or ourselves.
The race itself was very different
from our conventional American races.
In the evening the band played; there
were songs, vaudeville and good things
to eat, and everybody was happy.
The customary crowd whfch col-
lected about our machine was missing
the next morning when we left the
hotel at ten o'clock. The paradox is
this : it was Sunday and the streets
were deserted. Across the harbor we
The Miramichi river, a gateway to the great eorests oe New Brunswick
200
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
navigated in a ferryboat that just per-
mitted us to run aboard, and when the
Dartmouth shore was reached a run-
way had to be improvised to get us
ashore, as the weight of the car
had sunk the bow about eighteen
inches.
The first twenty miles of our trip
was very fine. The road skirts the
Dartmouth Lakes, Lake Fletcher and
Grand Lake, and is good; but after
Wellington is passed it becomes poor,
and in places is very rough and hardly
more than a wood road. The country
is wild and partridges and wild ani-
mals of various kinds were frequently
seen. Once an eagle with a three-foot
snake clutched in its claws flew over
our heads. This rough and wild
stretch of country may be avoided and
a better road found if the tourist will
swing to the east just beyond Waverly
and run to Musquodobit, and then
turn and run due north, following the
Gay River. The trip this way is a
little over twenty miles farther.
We reached Elmsdale, a little vil-
lage of two or three stores, and an
adorable inn (which really had no ex-
cuse for its existence in such an out-
of-the-way place), at one o'clock, hav-
ing only made thirty-six miles, which
made it look rather doubtful if Truro
could be reached before dark. We
stopped here for lunch, which, barring
none, seemed the best meal during our
entire trip, and long did we remember
the griddled chicken and the pumpkin
pie. At two o'clock we were again on
the road, which improved from here
on, and we made good time, passing
the St. Andrew's River, Stewiacke,
Alton and Brookfield without incident,
and would have reached our destina-
tion by five o'clock but for several un-
expected delays. First it was a barn
which was being moved and had been
left planted squarely in the road. The
detour about it which we had to make
was much more serious than it sounds.
Then a strip of road some two hun-
dred yards, with sharp, ugly rocks, over
which no tire would survive a trip, and,
finally, two miles from Truro, there was
that familiar and sickening sound as
of a pistol report and the accompany-
ing hiss of escaping air. It was our first
blow-out and it used up thirty minutes,
and, to make matters worse, it hap-
pened where there was a three-foot
ditch on either side, with just enough
room for a team to pass, but with no
leeway for a nervous horse. Four
teams tried to pass, then went over the
edge and were upset. The horse of
the fourth, instead of going by, tried
to climb a telegraph pole, and upon
our advice the owner waited for the
repairs to be finished.
We entered Truro, or rather sneaked
in, on a back street, more than half-
expecting to spend the night in the
police station. It was Sunday and the
sun was not yet set, and we concluded
the police could not make an arrest.
The place was absolutely dead. Our
hotel was near the railroad station, and
we were told that it was the lead-
ing hotel. It was the worst place
called a hotel we encountered on our
trip, and when we later read in a rail-
road guide book that one of the evi-
dences that Truro was a live town was
found in the excellency of the leading
hotels, we got a pretty poor opinion
of Truro.
All day Sunday everything is shut
up tight, but at seven o'clock the stores
opened and the freight cars began to
be shunted about the side tracks. A
case of sleep all day and lie awake at
night.
The one redeeming feature of Truro
— and this feature wholly apart from
the surroundings of the natives — is the
beautiful natural park, with its pic-
turesque gorge, its wooded, wild hills,
its cascade pouring over a barrier of
rocks fifty feet high above the pool
which the waters form at its base
God gave Truro a fine park, and when
she tries to improve it the town will
be something more than an uninterest-
ing railroad junction.
We delayed our start the next morn-
ing, as we learned that Commander
Peary was to pass through on his way
from Sydney to Boston. We also had
THE MARITIME PROVINCES
201
the satisfaction of watching Lord
Strathcona's (Canada's high commis-
sioner) private car and special train fly-
past, en route from Montreal to Hali-
fax.
The day was fine, as all the days had
been. The run was to Amherst, and,
if conditions warranted it, we were to
push on to Shediac, one hundred and
thirty-six miles. As the most direct
road was reported very rough, being
through mountainous country, we took
the road which skirted Cobequid Bay
and Minas Basin to Parrsborough. We
passed Bass River at eleven thirty,
twenty-nine miles from Truro, when
unfortunately we ran over and killed
a fine collie dog. All along our trip
we had been bothered by dogs, who
insisted upon running in front of the
car; but, as they always managed to
get out of the way, we had stopped
worrying.
All through the morning the scenery
was superb, and a fine view of the
water was constantly before us. Just
beyond Little Bass River a very steep
hill was encountered, which would
prove a Waterloo for anything but a
high-power car. It is a mile long and
very rough in places. A wonderful
view of Five Islands, with Cape Blomi-
don, across the channel in the distance,
presents itself when once the top is
reached.
The Five Islands are as strange a
geological formation as is to be found
in this country. They rise out of the
water at intervals of a few hundred
yards and tower a hundred feet or
more in the air; the sides are perpen-
dicular and on top of these strange
formation of rock is a heavy growth
of spruce trees.
We reached Parrsborough, which,
although it appears in black type on
the map, is but a small village fifty-
seven miles from Truro, at two o'clock.
After lunch at a boarding house called
the Grand Central Hotel, we started
for Amherst, the road lying at almost
right angles to the one we had followed
during the morning. The culverts
were especially bad on this run, and,
besides giving an auto and its occu-
pants pretty severe jounces, there is
great danger of breaking through.
Later on our trip we broke through
several, but with no serious results.
At a little after five we passed Mac-
can and the Chignecto coal mines. The
miners were out on a strike and the dis-
trict was under a state of semi-martial
law.
Amherst was reached before six
o'clock. It was getting dark, however,
and as the town looked pretty attrac-
tive to us, after ninety-one miles over
rough roads, we put up for the night.
We found Amherst one of the most
progressive and substantial towns in
the provinces. It has eight thousand
people, and evidences of prosperity are
on every hand. There are fine public
buildings, large manufacturing indus-
tries, and as attractive a club as any
city of one hundred thousand could
show.
We went to the theatre in the even-
ing, and upon our return to the hotel
asked a native if they often had as good
a performance, to which the enthusias-
tic individual somewhat ambiguously
replied: "Why, yes; once a week,
twice a month, for four or five days."
As we found ourselves a little be-
hind schedule time, arrangements were
made for an early breakfast, with the
idea of making Chatham, one hundred
and thirty miles away, the next day.
We arose at daybreak and were ready
to start long before the other guests at
the hotel began to appear, but the car
did not arrive. The magneto was not
working and the batteries had gotten
short-circuited in some way. If we had
not known where John, our chauffeur,
had been every minute the night be-
fore, we surely would have accused
him of going "joy" riding. Instead of
seven, it was eight thirty when we de-
parted. We ran perhaps two miles,
when one of the party stated that he
had left a camera in his room at the
hotel. Back we went and waited. In
ten minutes he appeared, with a sheep-
ish, ashamed look on his face, and in
reply to a round of rather sarcastic
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NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
remarks admitted that he remembered
packing it in his case. The second start
was made after nine o'clock, and it is
doubtful if we would have put back
again even if a member of the party
was missing.
In twenty minutes we were at Fort
Lawrence and had crossed the boun-
dary line into New Brunswick. For
ten miles the road runs over low, flat,
reclaimed land, closely resembling a
western prairie, with hundreds of
institutions, among them the Univer-
sity of Mount Allison College, the
Academy and Commercial College, the
Ladies' College and the Owens Insti-
tute and Conservatory of Music. We
passed through the town so quickly
that we left it on the wrong road, and
did not discover our mistake until we
had gone four miles. Back we went to
the town and out on the right way.
Sign-posts are an unheard-of thing in
the provinces, and even the informa-
We brought up on a marsh mii/es From anywhere
barns, all the same size and kind of
architecture, about the same distance
apart, which, from an aeroplane, must
appear like a gigantic checker-board.
These thousands of acres of verdant
marsh meadows around the head of the
Bay of Fundy have been a rich heritage
to the people, and have resulted in the
raising of some of the finest cattle in
the eastern part of America.
The road to Sackville is fairly good,
but showed signs of being practically
impassable in wet weather. Sackville
is made up of Methodist educational
tion the natives furnish is rather unre-
liable. As incredible as it may seem,
individuals were found in the back-
wood roads who actually did not know
where the road on which they lived
led to. An experience of this kind
happened after we left Sackville for
Dorchester. We again in some way
got off the main road and stopped at a
log cabin to inquire the way. The
woman who appeared at the door
stated that she thought the road led to
Dorchester, but did not know. In an-
swer to our questions she said that she
THE MARITIME PROVINCES
203
had spent most of her life in the vi-
cinity. We took a chance and pushed
on, and at the first cross-road were
held up by two armed prison wardens.
It turned out that a prisoner had es-
caped from the penitentiary in Dor-
chester, and the country for miles was
covered by guards to cut off his escape.
The wardens put us on the right track
again and we reached Dorchester at
eleven o'clock, and once more found
our location on the map we carried.
As we entered the town a dog ran
barking after us. Soon he was joined
by two more, and the noise they made
attracted others. It seemed as if every
dog in town immediately put in an ap-
pearance. There were black dogs and
brown dogs, yellow ones and a white
one, collies, bulls, St. Bernards and
mongrels — at least fifteen in all — and
such a noise as old Noah himself never
heard.- At the first chance we let the
car out into a thirty-mile clip, and our
carniverous, four-legged friends, fight-
ing among themselves, were lost in a
cloud of dust.
The road from Dorchester to Mem-
ramcook is good, but from the latter
to Meadow Brook it is a rough road,
through wild country, with long
stretches of nerve-racking corduroy
road. At one point we came upon a
load of hay, which completely filled
the narrow way, and we were obliged
to slowly follow it for a mile before
there was an opportunity to pass.
We crossed the Seadone River at
eleven thirty and ran out to Shediac
and Point du Chene, getting our first
view of Northumberland Strait. In
the hazy distance we could make out
the coast line of Prince Edward Island.'
It was noon and we had covered
only forty-five miles of our one hun-
dred and thirty, so off we started again,
skirting Shediac Harbor and heading
through Cocagne and Gaily, over the
Metadawoden River, to Buctouche.
The houses we passed, if painted at all,
were white, with red blinds and trim-
mings. There were many small vil-
lages; but, no matter how small the
place, it always contained an enormous
Catholic Church, painted like the
houses — white and red. These churches
were out of all proportion to the size
of the town, and it was a constant
source of wonder where the money to
build and maintain these came from.
Buctouche was just half-way to
Chatham, and here we stopped for
lunch at a tavern called the Victoria.
As we prepared to start away the land-
lady came to the door to say "Bon
soir" ; the stablemen stood and stared;
two women washing clothes at the side
of the door stopped their work, and a
lot of funny-looking natives buzzed
around, gesticulating in French-Cana-
dian and trying to explain the mechan-
ism of the car to each other. We lit
our cigars and leaned back in a self-
satisfied way. We had become so
hardened to the stares of these little
crowds that always assembled at our
departure that we no longer noticed
them. It was usually a case of one
turn of the handle, the motor started
and off we would go, with a nod to the
natives. Not so this time, and we sat
for twenty minutes while John cranked,
examined different parts and swore al-
ternately. First the mixture seemed
too strong, and there was a back fire;
then the batteries seemed to have got-
ten short-circuited, and then some other
cause was suggested, until it looked as
if Chatham would never be reached. It
was two o'clock when we finally moved
away and the car was limping badly.
We could get no power and had to take
the hills on the first speed, while as a
rule most of them were taken on the
third.
As we rolled along the long stretches
of forest road, miles from any kind of
habitation, the engine would occasion-
ally skip, sending visions of a night out
in the open flashing through our
minds ; but as the magneto got warmed
up the engine commenced to work bet-
ter, and when Richibucto was reached
we had plenty of power.
(To be continued)
The Crowded Hours of the
College Girl
By JEANNETTE MARKS
THE play-spirit of the American
child is left over in the Ameri-
can college girl ; it delights in
college organizations, in class affairs,
in college functions. But to the play-
spirit of the college girl — far more than
in the case of the college boy — has been
added a sense of responsibility and so-
ber self-importance. She makes and
fulfils innumerable petty engagements
with which a boy would not be both-
ered. Her receptions, "spreads/' so-
ciety meetings, church and prayer
meetings, Bible classes, Y. W. C. A.,
student government, college settle-
ment, athletic meet, musical clubs,
choir, shopping, dances and games at a
neighboring college, all become a part
of her "schedule." Before she knows
it she has an ordered system of crowd-
ing that would burden the shoulders
of well-seasoned, overworked royalty.
But she takes the crowding with noble
fortitude, meets every engagement, ac-
cepts every invitation, goes to every-
thing she is expected to go to — her par-
ents have brought her up well, poor
child — and she reads fifteen minutes a
day, as she herself will tell you, for
"pure enjoyment" — pure enjoyment a
little interrupted, however, by glancing
every five minutes at the clock to be
sure that she is not over-reading.
This average American college girl,
with her bursting schedule and dis-
tended conscience, is an intelligent,
well-set-up, independent, resourceful
human being. She is not a student per
se; she averages about thirty-six hours
a week on all the so-called academic or
intellectual work of the college; she
sleeps during the week some fifty- six
204
hours, and spends the remaining seven-
ty-six in dressing, eating, religious, ex-
ecutive and social engagements, and in
exercise. She does not over-eat, over-
exercise or spend too much time in
dressing; it would be far better for her
if she spent much more time than she
does on both toilet and exercise. Where
she places the stress is upon her execu-
tive and social engagements, and of
these two more emphasis is placed
upon the executive work. One of my
own students candidly confessed that
in the week she had spent twenty-two
hours and ten minutes in executive
work alone; another fifteen hours in
society work; another fifteen hours in
extension work. These are, of course,
instances of an extravagant use of time,
yet they are not at all uncommon. Out
of a class of eighty-eight juniors and
seniors doing elective literary work,
seventy-eight students were carrying
executive work. From that same class
thirteen students spent between seven
and fourteen hours each, and there
were twenty students who spent be-
tween five and six hours apiece a week.
The highest expenditure of time so-
cially that I found in the entire class
was ten and one-half hours. Where
her energy goes is plain to be seen ;
she is organized to death. One student
planned out her week Sunday evening.
Monday morning, with the frailty ever
attendant upon human nature, she
overslept, and, late, with difficulty got
to breakfast. Thereby she upset her
calculated plans by one half-hour. At
the close of the week she was still run-
ning rapidly after herself trying to
overtake the lost half-hour.
THE CROWDED HOURS OF THE COLLEGE GIRL
205
Despite the emphasis on the execu-
tive side, the social life presents its
problems. Socially, the American col-
lege is a somewhat crowded whole.
There is an effort on the part of the
students to know everyone; students
are heard to remark that it is their duty
to know as many people as possible.
This ominum gatherum attitude, which
has in it something of the political
demagogue, is not socially the highest.
Perhaps, rather, their real duty lies in
an essential relation to the people with
whom they naturally come in contact.
Then, too, there is the mistake of think-
ing that a social engagement consti-
tutes social life: the crush and mad
chatter of a crowded afternoon tea. or
shooting comet-like down a line of dig-
nitaries at a big reception. This is only
the way academic society, too, gets
credit, pays its monthly bills and man-
ages to have its I O U's torn up. From
that vital social life which has nothing
to do with the commerce of society the
college student might well take more
pleasure than she does.
The condition of a man's life is cer-
tainty; the condition of this girl's life
uncertainty. Perhaps she will marry;
perhaps she will stay at home; perhaps
she will teach — if she must. In paren-
tal minds probably most of the vague-
ness about the exact purpose of college
life for a girl is due to the conviction
that a woman's economic value is
bringing children into the world. In
the girl's own consciousness marriage
is present ; but she does not under nor-
mal conditions think much about it;
however, she realizes that when it does
come it will make a difference in her
work. All the while a man is constantly
expecting both to work and to marry.
This instability of purpose on the part
of the woman inevitably affects her at-
titude towards her work. She is intelli-
gent and realizes quickly that the pur-
pose of sending girls to college nowa-
days is so much unthought out that
people cannot agree on what they think
the end of that education really to be.
Some girls come to college because of
the pressure from home or friends ;
some because it is a "fad"; some for
vague, general reasons, and the minor-
ity for a definite purpose.
There is no ground for assuming, as
some older people do, that students are
satisfied with the present crowded con-
ditions, and that they do not desire
something else quite as much as those
who are wiser. There should be, and
I really think there is, perfect identity
of interest between faculty and stu-
dents. The dissatisfaction with the
crowded life is mutual, but the desire
of the faculty is, on the whole, towards
the development of a more intellectual
spirit. They see that students are ad-
mirably interested in "college life,"
without any corresponding admirable
interest in work ; that "college life" has
come to mean to the average student
something separable from work; that
there is not the organic relation be-
tween the two which there should be.
They know that the requirements of
the best women's colleges are sufficient
to make colleges, and that the attitude
of the students often tends to make ele-
mentary schools of higher institutions.
They know, too, whether they will ad-
mit it or not, that the ordinary curricu-
lum deprives the conscientious girl of
many opportunities she ought to have :
abundance of good plays, good music
and leisure for the best literature. They
add their quota of influence to the
damaging advice of certain educators
for students to read fifteen minutes
from some masterpiece. Fifteen min-
utes ! As if human nature could be di-
vided and subdivided indefinitely in its
functions like some machine and set
going by the pressure of a button.
Such a thought ought to make every
"pure enjoyment," every vital feeling,
every literary or artistic sense run cold.
Fifteen minutes, with the clock ticking
you in the face !
The unspoken question in the minds
of many college instructors is this: //
the college curriculum presupposed a cer-
tain amount of leisure' and kept the atmos-
phere of an academic body valuing leisure,
would the student then turn to an in-
terest in letters, or would she increase her
executive and social duties ? Uncertain of
the issue, the college deliberately raises
206
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
its requirements as a safeguard for the
intellectual life. The instructor feels,
too, that any deviation from the nor-
mal way of living implies some par-
ticular purpose, some particular end in
view. The home is the only normal
human center; from the human point
of view, the college can never be more
than a makeshift. There may be some
people so institutionalized, so accus-
tomed to the crowded make up of a
college dormitory, an evil further in-
creased by many "gang" habits, that
they cannot realize this. To repeat,
the college instructor, forced to live an
institutional life, is as convinced as any
observer from the outside that this is a
deviation from the normal way of liv-
ing, and must, therefore, imply some
particular purpose. That purpose he
believes to be largely intellectual.
On the other hand, the desire of the
students is towards — well, they hardly
know — freedom, perhaps, first of all ;
release from nervous tension. They
feel the crowded hours in various ways.
Not any of them would have the cour-
age to be found with empty hands,
merely thinking. They would hurry to
pick up a book or a paper, or to stir
about their rooms as if busy. And yet
the overwhelming majority long for
changed conditions. They find it im-
possible to take things in a leisurely
way. "It is necessary," says one stu-
dent, "to jump from one thing to an-
other, without doing entire justice to
any one thing." They want time for
rest, for thinking, for quiet reading.
There is so much feverish rushing that'
some time every day to be spent un-
constrained in idleness, or doing some-
thing unrelated to a class-room, or to
an engagement, would seem almost too
good to be true. Yet, in part, thev are
the makers of their own destinies. They
demand responsibility on every side.
As if life would not give them an over-
dose of responsibility before they finish
a longer career than that of college !
They must govern themselves ; verily,
they must, if they can, govern the fac-
ulty, and if they were not convinced
that the trustees were a hopeless group
of unsympathetic, elderly gentlemen,
with the one asset of bulging pocket-
books, they would storm that academic
height, too. But their predicament,
even if it has its comic aspects, is a se-
rious one — indeed, it is a serious prob-
lem for the entire college.
And the girls are right when they
talk about "radical steps," only the
trouble is they do not know which way
to step; and while they are busy con-
tradicting one another and their elders,
and hesitating, the requirement for
work shoots up higher because some
college in the West has decided to take
a "stand" and to increase the possi-
bilities of considering forty-six different
subjects in one year to fifty-six. The
change is accepted — it has to be, for
the students have quite as much pride
as their instructors, and know just as
well as they that colleges are not upon
the stable basis of some absolute good,
but, rather, upon the sliding scale of
competition. With the extra crowding
the process of assimilation becomes
more sluggish. They do not realize,
and their instructors do not realize,
that close confinement on bread and
water with one robust, medium-sized
thought would sometimes be better for
them than the vast anaemic note-taking
of the class-room.
Eighty-six of the eighty-eight students
I have mentioned added their voices
to the plea for leisure, and a few have
admitted at the same time that the
great fault on the part of the students
is a lack of plain common sense and
power of selection. One student writes
that the remedy for this life of rush and
hurry must lie in the development of a
sense of proportion. In their own
words, they know that their weeks are
"crammed, superficial and altogether
unsatisfactory." But they do not take
time to get "caught up" and start off
again; so the vicious circle continues.
They will not even attack thoughtfully
the problems of their own individual
lives, making such adjustment, such
sensible changes towards betterment
as are actually within their grasp.
Perhaps a few suggestions from one
who has made many of the mistakes to
which the average college student is
THE CROWDED HOURS OF THE COLLEGE GIRL
207
liable will not come amiss and will not
be considered officious. The writer is
all too aware that her ideal day may be
another's anathema, but believes, how-
ever far she or the college may be from
its realization, that there is such a
quantity as an ideal day. Health, hap-
piness, work, leisure — these are the
four desiderata to which everything
else must be subservient. If one pauses
to think carefully about each one of
these elements in a wholesome life, it
will be seen that not one can develop
without the co-existence of the other
three. I give them in what is for me
the logical order of their importance,
with the frank expression of opinion
that frequently it seems that the col-
lege plans its regime for the woman
of thirty and not for the growing girl ;
that its provision for the maintenance
of health is not sufficient; that its em-
phasis upon work is too insistent; that
its disregard of leisure among faculty
and students is to be regretted. To
cut the Gordian knot of its multiplied
interests, however, is not easy I
know, with all deference for those who
have spent years in trying to adjust
such matters, that it is simpler to criti-
cise conditions than to solve a problem.
To the writer one thing appears in-
contestably true — that whereas the world
has no absolute need for students, its need
for healthy men and women is absolute.
Six hours of concentrated mental work is
all the average adult can do to advan-
tage; it should certainly be all re-
quired of the college girl. Of course,
six hours of dilly-dallying will accom-
plish nothing, when the same amount
of time expended with the verve used
in basket ball or tennis should be suffi-
cient to give a student high rank in all
her work. Such a schedule robs the
twenty-four hours of only six; a wide
enough margin remains so that one
who needs more sleep than eight hours
(as most people do) can have it — say,
ten hours at least. Of the remaining
eight, three or four must be spent in
dressing and at the table. This leaves
an ample margin — a chance for every-
one to be out of doors for at least two
hours. As things are now, the average
hard-working student takes at the most
forty-five minutes.
Of course, the difficulty is two-fold.
If the student insists upon spending all
her leisure in executive Avork — that
endlessly ramified obligation of which,
thank fortune, the English and Ger-
man student knows nothing — she is
like the man who said he would drown
and nobody should help him. Indeed,
she will drown. And, on the other
hand, if the instructor, keenly ambi-
tious, adds to the pressure of work,
there is hardly an escape from the
double screw. It is a case which calls
for restraint; on the part of the college
in refusing to multiply courses and re-
quirements, and on the part of the stu-
dents in refusing needlessly to multiply
executive and social duties.
Both student and instructor desire
the same end; the best good of the stu-
dent. The college woman is not at
heart an irresponsible, notional child;
nor is the instructor a Russian auto-
crat. Girls sometimes talk in a way
that would lead you to believe that col-
lege work is a system of tyranny; but
they well know the difficulties met by
instructors and respect their teachers
for the problems they must solve.
More latitude in the accomplishment
of work and an absolute requirement in
passing it off would relieve a college fac-
ulty immensely. With long hours of sleep,
ample exercise and leisure, requirements,
which are bugbears now, would be-
come, as they should, a part of the
day's pleasure. If once the spirit of
hard work and hard play, governed by
common sense, could be started in a
college, both instructor and student
would soon learn the difficult art of
saying "no." Both would soon learn
that fifteen-minute readings and walks
are equally vicious ; that the one to the
overcrowded mind brings no happi-
ness, and that the other to the fatigued
body no health. Both would soon learn
that overcrowding is crowding out. In-
deed, it seems to the writer that the
one word "no" used sensibly by in-
structor and student is the only solvent
for the whole problem.
The Biography of a Trout— II.
By JOHN W. TITCOMB
AFTER a month of feeding, some
of the little fish have grown so
much more rapidly than others
that it becomes necessary to sort
them to prevent the larger ones from
eating their weaker brothers and sis-
ters. And so the little fishes are di-
vided and sorted at frequent intervals,
until the troughs, which carried 40,000
at the beginning, are still full with only
1000 fish, which have been fed two or
three months.
Let us pause in the story of the or-
phan and his companions long enough
to look over his new home. The hatch-
ery stands at one side of a beautiful
green meadow, winch is dotted here
and there with small sheets of water.
These are the larger breeding ponds
for the big fish, rearing ponds, some-
what smaller, in which are the medium-
sized fish, and the nursery ponds, in
which the fry are cared for.
Through the meadow there flows a
stream of water made up of springs in
the forest-clad hills not far away. Some
of the water flows into the hatchery,
where it is distributed so as to supply
the various tiers of hatching troughs.
The stream is again divided several
times, so that some of it flows through
each of the ponds.
In the breeding ponds there are trout
weighing two or three pounds. Then
there are the two-year-olds and the
yearlings, graded according to size in
ponds set apart for them. Unlike the
wild trout, these fish are quite tame,
and some of them will take food from
the fish man's hand. They are usually
hungry, and when they see the shadow
of the fish man fall across the water
they crowd to the bank, and as he
throws spoonfuls of food around the
pond the water seems to boil. The
fish man sees the mass of fins and tails
squirming and twisting and turning
about in haste to reach a choice mor-
sel, while some leap out of the water,
turn a complete somersault and swim
greedily away with a mouthful. He
carefully watches their capricious ap-
petites and sees that no food is left to
foul the pond.
He has become so well acquainted
with certain ones that he has given
them names. Jim and Mary are two
especial favorites, which are always
pointed out to the many visitors as
the largest and oldest trout at the
hatchery.
Mary has seven generations of chil-
dren, numbering as many thousands,
which are scattered far and wide. To
attempt to figure her grandchildren
and great-granchildren requires more
arithmetic than it is best to bring into
this story, and the orphan and his
companions in the crowded troughs
need attention.
So the fish man counts and sorts
them according to size, and then trans-
fers them to the nursery ponds. Our
orphan is graded with the largest fry
and is one of the liveliest in the school,
As his life is much like that of the
others, his experiences will be recorded.
Now, the experiences of fish at a
hatchery seem to consist principally in
eating and in dodging those who wish
to eat them, while those of fishes in a
stream are practically the same, ex-
cept that in the stream the big fishes
eat the little ones, the little ones eat
one another, and all are caught and
eaten by various animals, including the
angler and his friends. At the hatch-
ery it is intended to protect our orphan
and his friends as much as possible
until they have grown to a size when
209
210
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
they can take care of themselves; but
there are daily tragedies in every
trough and pond, even under the vigi-
lant care of the fish man.
Not long after our orphan was
placed in a nursery pond he sees what
appears to him a very large fish, with
some curious marks on his sides, swim-
ming boldly among his mates, and
every now and then making a rush at
one of them with his mouth open wide ;
sometimes he seizes one by the tail and
again across its body, but he always
gives the victim a dextrous twist and
swallows it head first. For two days
he is in terror for his life, and spends
his hours dodging this big fellow, lest
he share the fate of his mates. On the
third day, as he watches from his hid-
ing place, he sees the familiar shadow
of the fish man. This time he has a
long-handled net in his hand. A quick
movement, and the big fish which has
been the terror of the pond is flutter-
ing in the net, and the fish man is ex-
amining those curious marks and won-
dering how a fish of this size got into
the nursery pond. The marks are
V-shaped, as if made by the bill of a
bird, and he recalls that a kingfisher
was caught two days ago in a trap set
on a pole over the nursery pond. Now
he has the whole story. The king-
fisher, without doubt, caught a trout
about six inches long and lit on the
top of the pole, intending to enjoy his
prey. When the trap sprung, the bird
dropped the fish bearing the telltale
marks of its beak among his younger
brothers.
Of course, the orphan and his friends
do not know how the larger trout got
into their pond, for he did not stop to
tell them his experience before he be-
gan to eat them ; but it does not take
them long to learn that their big
brother is a terrible cannibal, and that
such fellows must be avoided.
This tragedy was unusual, but it re-
sulted in the loss of a hundred little
fish. Did a few of the strongest fish
in the pond at this time learn how to
eat their companions, or was it natural
to them? At any rate, a few of the
weaker fish disappear daily, and one
IvARvab of the Caddis fi,y
day the fish man sees a little fellow
with the tail of another one sticking
out of his mouth. He removes this
fellow, as he does others, whenever
they show a tendency to eat one an-
other; for it is known that if the little
fish are well fed there will be only a
few cannibals among them, and that it
pays to kill or to separate them from)
the others.
Not long after the tragedy of the!
kingfisher a sandpiper on the edge oi
the pond is seen to pick up and swal-i
low several of the little fishes. This is!
another unusual occurrence, and the
biologist will tell you that the throal
of the sandpiper is not properly con-j
structed to eat little fishes, and yet thcj
fish man saw the bird do it.
The nursery ponds do not receive sq
much attention from fish robbers asL
do the ponds where there are yearling
and two-year-olds, but the orphan seejf
his friends stolen away very frequentl)
— now by the water ouzel, once by i\
little wren, again by a pewee; bul
these little birds are not very harmful
as compared with many larger bird*]
and quadrupeds, and no attempt i;|J
made to kill them. \
One day a sly mink creeps up thJj
drain pipe from the river and create:
terror in the pond. He is catching th
orphan's friends at the rate of one
THE BIOGRAPHY OF A TROUT
211
minute, when, fortunately, the fish man
happens to look out of the window.
He watches the little brown animal
dive, come to the surface with a fish
in his mouth, drop it dead into the
waste drain and instantly dive for an-
other, until it looks as if there would
be but few left in the pond if he does
not quickly interfere. A shot from
his gun settles the matter, but not be-
fore thirty fish have been killed. The
mink evidently intended to provide a
feast for himself and family and all of
his neighbors before commencing to
carry away his booty.
Of all the enemies of the fishes, the
kingfisher is most hated by the fish
man. Not only is he very proficient
in the art of catching fish, but he pro-
claims his presence with an unmis-
takable and rattling cry. Although
he builds his nest in the sand banks
some distance away he brings his
children to the ponds as soon as they
can fly. He gets busy very early in the
morning and on Sundays, when the
fish man would like to enjoy a morn-
ing nap, he is awakened by this noisy
robber, and knows that if he lingers
in bed he will be the loser of some fine
fish.
Cranes and herons make occasional
early-morning calls, coming unan-
nounced and doing their work silently
and quickly. They are quite as de-
structive as the kingfishers.
The noisy bullfrog, in his search for
live food to appease a never-failing
appetite, occasionally invades the
ponds and steals young fish. If live
insects are plentiful, he is a peaceful
citizen, and the little fish play around
him unmolested; but he must have
live food.
The eel is an occasional visitor at
the ponds, having come all the way
Transferring eggs erom packing trays to hatching trays, St. Johnsbury station
212
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
from the ocean, where all eels are
born. He is a slippery fellow to deal
with, and such a good climber that it
is difficult to stop his ascent into the
ponds. He is very adept in catching
young trout, and knows how to round
them up in schools.
The summer passes away quickly,
and notwithstanding sandpipers, king-
fishers, herons, cranes, bullfrogs and
eels, the ponds are teeming with fish.
By the use of traps set on poles for
fishhawks, owls and kingfishers, others
set in drains for minks, and again in
certain places where cranes and herons
are specially fond of wading, and also
by the use of the ever-ready shotgun,
the fish have been quite well protected.
That these enemies are numerous is
shown by the fact that before winter
comes again the fish man has a record
of no less than twenty-seven kinds
of birds, quadrupeds and reptiles
which have been destroyed in vary-
ing quantities in order to protect the
fish.
Our orphan and his companions are
now from three to five inches long, and
it is time for another distribution to
ponds and streams. They are first
sorted and counted out into cans of
water, except a few of the largest and
handsomest, which are placed in rear-
ing ponds to be kept for breeders. Our
orphan is one of the latter.
The cans, which easily contained
5000 fry last spring, will not safely
carry more than 200 of the same fish
three or four months older. Some of
the cans are sent direct to the heads
of streams in the hills by wagon loads ;
others are hauled to the station and
loaded into the baggage cars of pas-
senger trains, to be delivered to appli-
cants for distribution in more distant
streams ; still others are carried on cars
especially equipped for carrying quan-
tities of live fish for journeys requiring
several days.
Thus the young fish are planted in
the waters which are to be their future
homes, where they must continue the
struggle for existence, with no fathers
or mothers to guide them and no fish
man to protect them.
In the rearing pond our orphan and
his friends are not so crowded as they
were in the nursery. They are now
large enough to attract the kingfishers,
and the orphan sees several of his com-
panions carried away in the beaks of
these terrible birds before cold weather
drives them south. He, too, has a very
narrow escape, having felt the bird's
beak, but soon learns to rush into deep
water whenever the shadow of a bird
appears above him.
They now have a new experience in
the kind of food given them. While in
the nursery they learned to eat coarser
liver than was given them as fry, but
it was otherwise the same-. Now the
liver is mixed with the coarser part of
flour, called wheat middlings, after the
latter has been boiled, and this mixture
is to be their food for the rest of their
lives at the hatchery. They do not like
it at first, but it is that or nothing, and
they soon learn to eat it, and continue
to grow much more rapidly than their
mates who have been liberated in
streams and ponds.
Throughout the winter, life at the
hatchery is uneventful for the fish. As
the water grows colder they become
less active. For weeks at a time the
ponds are covered with ice and snow.
The fish sleep away these days much
as the bears do, and need no food until
warmer weather arouses them. It is
a busy time for the fish man, however,
for the hatching troughs are full of
eggs collected from the older trout in
the larger ponds.
Now, perhaps you are wondering
how the fish man got a million eggs
to fill the troughs. Soon after the
transfer of the orphan to the rearing
pond, which was followed by the dis- ]
tribution of most of his companions
and just about a year from the time |
when Mr. and Mrs. Trout made a nest
and filled it with eggs, all the older
trout in the breeding ponds take on
brighter colors. The white tips of the
fins look whiter and the red along the
sides becomes redder, but they do not
have the brilliant colors of Mr. and
Mrs. Trout. These fish in the ponds
are domesticated trout, which have
THE BIOGRAPHY OF A TROUT
213
lived at the hatchery all their lives.
They have not had an opportunity to
swim about wherever they pleased, to
eat caddis worms and flies, bugs,
shrimp and other minute water ani-
mals, all of which help to heighten the
color of a wild fish. So the domesti-
cated trout never have such brilliant
colors as their wild companions, but
they have always been well fed, the
ponds have been kept scrupulously
clean, the fish have occasionally re-
the pond into a tub. Then he takes a
female in one hand, while with the
other he gently strips the eggs into a
milk pan without any water in it. The
eggs flow freely, just as milk does from
a cow. Then a male trout is treated in
the same way and the milt flows over
the eggs. After stripping two or three
fish, the pan is given a rotary motion
with the hand until the milt has
touched all of the eggs. Then water is 4
added to the pan of eggs, poured off
Spawning crew returning with eggs Erom spawning grounds
Grand Mesa dake, Colorado
ceived a bath in salt water to free
them from parasites, and they are
happy.
The same instinct as that of their
wild brothers makes them wish to pair
off, make nests and lay eggs, and there
are some fierce battles among the
males. The fish man watches them
closely, and whenever he sees any ripe
fish — that is, fish which are apparently
ready to lay eggs — he nets them out of
and more added. The process is re-
peated until all sediment has floated
out of the pan, leaving it about half-
full of beautiful, amber-colored eggs,
nearly all of which have been fertilized.
This work is continued day after day
until all the brood fish have been
stripped of eggs. Each day, when the
stripping process has been completed,
the eggs are carried into the hatchery,
spread out on trays of wire cloth, and
214
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
laid down in the troughs where a cur-
rent of clear, cool water is constantly
passing over them.
It will be recalled that Mrs. Trout
laid about a thousand eggs; that only
a small part of them were fertilized,
and that a much smaller number were
destined to hatch into little fishes. By
stripping eggs into a dry pan and then
applying the milt, nearly all of them
are fertilized. This shows the great
or that the next year they will be called
upon to help stock the hatchery with
eggs. m
Springtime comes around again, and
the hatchery is full of fry, just as it was
a year ago, when the orphan arrived.
The ice has melted from the ponds and
the frost is all out of the ground. Only
one lot of fish have met with any mis-
haps during the winter. When the
snow melted there was a telltale path
Field hatchery, Grand Mesa, Colorado
advantage of the artificial method of
fertilizing the eggs ; then, too, they are
protected from the dangers of enemies,
floods and sediment in the hatching
troughs, as we have already seen.
All of the breeders are returned to
the ponds after being stripped, none
the worse for being thus handled.
The orphan and his companions do
not know anything about what has
been going on among the older fishes,
made by a mink, or perhaps by several
of them, leading from the stream, un-
der the snow and plank walks, to the
edge of one of the ponds. No one
knows for how long a time the wily
minks have been carrying off nice two-
year-old fish by this underground pas-
sage, but prompt measures are taken
to prevent any more thefts.
Another summer passes by, the or-
phan and most of his friends surviving
THE BIOGRAPHY OF A TROUT
215
the depredations of the various ene-
mies that prey upon them; the beauti-
ful autumn foliage appears again on
the hills, and the heightened color
again comes to the older fishes.
The orphan is now a year and a half
old, seven inches in length, and weighs
a quarter of a pound. He and his com-
panions at the hatchery have grown
more rapidly than those which were
put into the streams a year ago. In
fact, it will probably be a whole year
more before the latter weigh even a
quarter of a pound.
The fish man has been watching the
orphan lately, for he sees that this little
waif has more color than his compan-
ions; the red spots are more distinct
and the mottling of his sides more
beautiful. It occurs to him that it is
wise to introduce new blood at the
hatchery now and then, and he deter-
mines to secure some eggs from wild
trout. The first thing to be done is to
catch the fish, and his mind turns to
the stream and pond on the mountain
from which our orphan came. So he
builds a trap on the brook, not far from
where Mrs. Trout lived. It is so con-
structed that when the trout ascend
the stream they enter a pen and then
cannot find their way out. In fact,
they will not try to turn back, because
they have started on a journey up
stream; and when a fish makes up its
mind to reach the nesting place, it per-
sists in its undertaking regardless of
all obstacles.
Soon a very rainy season comes and
the stream is so swollen that it nearly
washes over the top of the trap. The
high water is a signal for the fish to
rush up the stream from the pond, but
they soon find themselves in the trap.
No matter how often they try to jump,
they cannot surmount this obstacle. A
watchman camping in a shanty near
by dips them out of the trap as fast as
they come in and puts them into adjoin-
ing pens. What a run of trout ! Some
weigh as much as two pounds, but
there are all sizes, from a quarter of a
pound up, and all beautifully colored.
By night time he has counted a thou-
sand into the pens.
Alone, he cooks and eats his supper
to the tune of rushing water, varied by
the occasional splash of a trout which
is trying to leap over the rack of slats
that forms the upper side of the trap.
The black darkness of a rainy night
has shut everything from view when
he lies down on his bunk. for a short
nap. An hour later he is awakened by
the screech of an owl in an adjacent
tree. As he springs from his bunk he
lands in the water that now covers the
floor of his shanty. Fortunately, the
water is not yet over the platform on
which he stands and dips, nor over the
tops of the slats forming the trap and
pens, and as there are fish in the trap
he begins dipping them into the pens.
At first he counts as he dips, but when
a hedgehog brushes by his bare legs
in the darkness he loses his count. It
is a long and weary night for him, but
so long as there are fish to be dipped
from the trap, both mind and body are
kept occupied. Towards morning the
water subsides somewhat, and when
the fish man arrives at daylight they
take account of stock, while the watch-
man relates his experiences.
There are fifteen hundred fish in one
of the pens, but only a few in the other.
A closer examination reveals the fact
that there is a washout underneath one
of the pens adjoining the trap. The
watchman had been dipping the same
fish over and over all night. All that
were put into the washed-out pen re-
entered the trap in their persistent ef-
forts to stem the current and get up
stream. It was not quite as bad as
bailing water from the brook, but the
watchman thought that it was when
he retired to his bunk that morning.
The fish man immediately gets to
work. First, he repairs the pen which
was washed out and then he sorts the
fish. The ripe females are placed in a
pen by themselves and the others
sorted as well as the temporary pen-
ning facilities permit. Some of the
ripe fish are now dipped into a tub, and
the operation of stripping and fertil-
izing eggs is performed just as it is
done with the domesticated trout at the
hatchery. As fast as stripped the fish
216
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
are liberated above the trap, so that
they may resume their journey up
stream, and if the very last egg is not
expelled from the female,. she certainly
will continue her journey and spawn
again in the natural way.
It is noticeable that the eggs of these
wild trout are more richly-colored than
are those from the fish at the hatchery,
some of them being of a deep salmon
color. A close examination will show
that the color of trout eggs corresponds
closely to the flesh of the fish. Trout
with white meat have eggs of a light
color, while the salmon-colored eggs
come from fish having rich, salmon-
colored flesh. This variation in the
color of the flesh and eggs is attributed
to the nature of the food upon which
the fish live.
At the close of the morning's opera-
tions the fish man can estimate very
closely the number of eggs he has taken
by glancing at the row of pans ; but if
he had taken the trouble to weigh all
the females, perhaps a more accurate
estimate could be given, for it is known
that a wild trout weighing two pounds
produces about 2000 eggs ; that a one-
pound trout lays about 1000 eggs, and
smaller trout lay a lesser number, pro-
portionate to their weight.
But the eggs must be taken to the
hatching troughs without unnecessary
delay, and the fish man knows that as
soon as the eye spots show, the eggs
can without injury be measured in a
glass graduate or even in a quart meas-
ure, just as if they were blueberries. Of
course, he must count one measure full
before he can calculate the total num-
ber he has in all.
Fish culturists, as a rule, are not sen-
timental, but this one has taken a spe-
cial interest in the orphan, and remem-
bers that he came of wild parents liv-
ing in the stream where his trap has
done such effective work. Perhaps one
of the very large females caught in the
trap is his mother; who knows? At
any rate, the fish man has some of these
beautiful trout placed in tubs of water,
and has them hauled to the hatchery
before they are stripped.
At the proper time the orphan con-
tributes his share of milt to fertilize
some of the eggs of these wild fish,
and then all, including the orphan, are
liberated in one of the largest breeding
ponds for the winter.
The hatchery is overcrowded with
eggs this year, for in addition to those
taken from the brood stock, the wild
trout have contributed many more.
Winter comes again and the eggs
have been developing in the hatching
troughs until the eye-spots of the little
fish can be seen in them. Now the fish
man has orders to ship some of the
eggs to other hatcheries in this coun-
try and also to foreign countries.
Those for Argentina and New Zealand
have long journeys to take. He has al-
ready prepared the cases with nests of
trays in them, and has been ready to
fill the orders the minute the eye-spots
show. Those intended for ocean voy-
ages receive the first attention, for they
must travel thirty to fifty days before
they arrive at the fisheries where they
are to be hatched.
The eggs are spread one or two lay-
ers deep on trays of canton flannel
which have been soaked in cold water;
then they are covered with mosquito
netting, and on top of this are placed
thin layers of soft moss. The trays are
stacked one upon another, fastened to-
gether, placed in boxes, surrounded on
the sides by moss, with a box of ice on
top. The ice keeps the eggs moist and
so cold that they cannot develop and
hatch while on the way. Those for
foreign shipment are surrounded by
ice on all sides except the bottom.
Another spring has come and gone,
and it is now two years since the or-
phan made his debut by way of the
city water main. He and his wild
mates are jumping about in the pond
and snapping at flies and other insects,
or even at floating leaves. They ap-
pear to have the mood for jumping,
which occasionally comes to all trout,
whether there is anything to jump at
or not. They are too happy and busy
to notice that the water is gradually
becoming shallow, until suddenly some
of the earth of the pond embankment
THE BIOGRAPHY OF A TROUT
21
falls with a splash; there is a sudden
rush of water towards the break, and
the fish instinctively follow the cur-
rent. The fish man, sauntering by,
sees the break and quickly throws a
net over it, but not until a number of
fish have escaped to the river, while
the rest, frightened and flopping, rush
into the deepest place they can find.
The break is quickly repaired and the
pond slowly refills, but the exposed
water at the entrance of each hole. The
next morning he finds three large male
muskrats in the traps, more holes
started and more floating grass. He
sets more traps and again the next
morning he finds still more muskrats.
The trapping is continued for ten days,
and as a result thirteen muskrats have
been caught from as many holes, all of
them being males. The traps are kept
set for some days longer, but as no
TWO CANNIBAL LAKE TROUT AND THEIR VICTIMS
embankments have disclosed a num-
ber of holes. The fish man also no-
tices bunches of grass floating about
the pond, and he knows from it and the
holes that muskrats have been visiting
the pond.
Now, the muskrat does not often kill
fish, but he and the mink, and some-
times field mice, dig holes in the banks
of ponds, thus causing serious wash-
outs, as in the present instance. So
the'fish man sets a steel trap under
more muskrats are caught, all the holes
are tamped full of clay.
There were no muskrat signs in any
of the other ponds, and the fish man is
still pondering as to whether these
thirteen muskrats intended to build as
many homes and then go to seek their
mates, or whether they were intending
to establish a bachelors' club?
The fish man now takes account of
stock. He has lost some very hand-
some trout, and, sad to relate, the or-
21S
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
phan is one of them. Or shall we not
rejoice that this city waif is now free
to roam at large in the beautiful, deep
pools of the meadow, to taste of the in-
sects and other good things which wild
trout enjoy, and, when the autumn
leaves have turned, to choose a mate
and partake of the joys and sorrows of
family life, even though it be for a brief
period?
One would think that his early train-
ing at the hatchery would unfit him
for the battle of life in the greater trout
world, but if we can believe one-half of
the stories told by fishermen, the natu-
ral instincts of self-preservation came
with his freedom. Certain it is that the
orphan escaped the snares of the small
boy, as well .as the hooks of the anglers,
until he became noted among the vil-
lage fishermen, any one of whom can
tell you a remarkable story about his
experiences with the big trout which
lived under the stump down by the
Eddy.
Many are the hooks which were lost
and the lines that were snagged under
the old stump. One old fisherman of
veracity is very sure that this is the
same fish which allowed him to tickle
it with his fingers as it lay under the
bank just above the old stump. At any
rate, the old fisherman creeps cau-
tiously up to the bank of the stream
and peers into the water, hoping to get
a sight of the fish which stole his bait.
After a long wait on his stomach, dur-
ing which he carefully scans the con-
tents of the pool without attracting the
attention of the fish, he sees directly
beneath him under the bank the bril-
liant side of a large trout. Slowly and
carefully he lowers his arm until his
hand is under water by the side of the
fish. Then he stealthily closes his fin-
gers so that the tips just touch the
belly of the fish. The fish quivers at
the touch and darts swiftly across the
pool. The angler remains immovable,
with his fingers in the water bent as
if the fish were still there. Quicker
than it takes to tell it, the fish returns
to the same spot over the fingers, and
remains for a few seconds to be stroked
and then dashes under the stump. The
narrator of this story is positive he was
tickling the famous trout of the pool,
and that it then weighed about a pound
and a half. His brother fishermen who
have had their hooks snagged by the
famous fish of the Eddy all aver that
their fish weighed anywhere from two
to five pounds.
It is hoped that my readers will not
view the tickling episode as an imag-
inary fish story, for the experience is
not an unusual one; and the writer
knows of a gentleman who caught a
creel full of a species of trout called
Dolly Varden by first tickling them
with his fingers and then closing his
hand on them. However, the orphan
was not destined to be tickled to death.
Most of the village anglers and not
a few summer visitors from the city let
their favorite bait drift with the cur-
rent down through the hole by the
stump or cast their flies over it.
The village blacksmith, who always
uses for bait one of those queer little
fish called chuckleheads when after
big trout, has tried for the orphan
many times and failed.
Another angler, lantern in hand,
steals softly around the garden at
night, seeking dew-worms or night-
walkers — a great fish-worm which
comes out after the dew has fallen and
stretches himself over the ground, al-
ways keeping his tail in his hole and
disappearing quickly at the least jar.
Although he skilfully places the largest
one on the hook by the collar and dan-
gles it full length in the pool, the or-
phan is not deceived by it in the least.
Then the boy with a tempting, live
grasshopper or cricket on his hook
starts it sailing upon a chip, and when
the chip reaches the right place, makes
it tumble off as naturally as if it had
just hopped into the water; but he, too,
is a failure.
The orphan seems to understand that
a hook is hidden in each bait. He plays
with the chucklehead, bites off the head
of the cricket and the dangling end of
the dew-worms Many times the bare
hook is drawn up when the angler
never knew he had a bite. At other
times he feels a tremendous jerk and
THE BIOGRAPHY OF A TROUT
219
the next moment he is trying to un-
tangle the line from the roots that
guard the orphan's home.
The one who drops a young, wrig-
gling field mouse over the pool by
moonlight cannot tell what happened ;
there is one big tug and then he finds
his line hooked in a neighboring tree, so
excitedly does he pull in hopes of land-
ing the big fish. After this he gives it
up in disgust, as do many others, who
go far up the stream where fish are
time. He does not have much time to
go fishing, but in his long rides about
the country, if about sunset or just be-
fore sunrise he chances to be near a
trout stream, he usually hitches his
horse, limbers up his rod and makes a
few casts over some favorite pool, with
every part of which he has become fa-
miliar. Thus it happens that, upon
coming back from the bedside of a very
sick patient, early dawn finds him on
the meadow road, and a glimmer of
Interior oe one oe the U. S. Bureau oe Fisheries cars
more plentiful, if not so large and fa-
mous.
The village doctor, who always car-
ries a fishing rod under the seat of his
buggy and a book of flies in his pocket,
is not so easily discouraged. The doc-
tor is noted the country over, not only
for his skill in the sick room, but also
as a fisherman. It is common talk
among the loungers at the store that
the doctor can cast a fly sixty or more
feet and put it into a silk hat every
water in a distant pool tells him that
the light is just right to try the famous
trout.
With rod in hand he stealthily
creeps to the brook, some distance
above the pool, puts his leader in soak,
and then selects a white fly suited to
the dim light at this time of day. After
jointing his rod together he carefully
adjusts his leader to the line, the fly
to the leader, and makes a few short
casts. Then, measuring the distance
220
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
carefully with his eye, with a longer
cast his fly drops lightly over the cen-
ter of the pool. At the instant the fly
touches the water the trout jumps for
it. He does not turn a somersault, as
small trout do, but a big head with
open mouth appears just above the sur-
face, the mouth closes, the doctor gives
a short, quick jerk and is on his feet in
an instant.
Then follows a battle royal. The fa-
mous trout is fairly hooked, and in
spite of all his efforts is unable to reach
his favorite refuge under the roots. On
the other hand, the doctor finds it hard
to reel in any of the line, and his slen-
der rod is bent nearly double. His
nerves thrill with delight as the enor-
mous trout jumps entirely out of the
water and shakes himself violently in
his attempts to free himself from the
hook.
Then the trout makes a rush for
rapid water, where the current helps
him in his resistance, and the reel fairly
sings as the doctor lets out a few feet
of line. Up and down rushes the fish,
and coolly the doctor walks up and
down the bank, now reeling in a bit of
line, now letting it out again, but al-
ways straining his rod to what would
seem the breaking point, rather than
let the fish reach the snags under the
stump. This is repeated many times.
Through it all there is not a moment
that the tension is relaxed, and, al-
though there are moments of compara-
tive quiet, the quivering, straining re-
sistance never ceases. Gradually the
rushes which tried nerves and tackle
alike grow less fierce, and the doctor
reels in some of the line. Then the big
fish is drawn to the surface of the
water, gasping, but still struggling.
Gradually he is led to a quiet, shallow
place at the head of the pool. Now it is
that the doctor hesitates as to what to
do, for he has no landing net, and a
false move at this stage will mean the
loss of the fish.
With the bent rod pointing over his
head, he stealthily draws the fish to a
gradually sloping sandbar, and at the
same time moves toward it, stoops
over, and is just about to seize the fish
with his hand when it makes one more
struggle and the hook flies from its
jaw. Now, the doctor, always so calm
in the sick room, and usually so cool
when landing a big trout, becomes ex-
cited, and for once, throwing his rod
and dignity aside, literally drops down
on all fours in a vain attempt to cap-
ture the prize, but the orphan gives one
big flop in the shallow water and is out
of sight; and the sun, peeping up over
the horizon, sees a very wet, tired and
fe
Pack horses waded with brook trout in the Colorado Rockies
THE BIOGRAPHY OF A TROUT
221
disgusted man untying his horse and
heading for home.
Refreshed by a cold plunge, dry
clothes and a cup of coffee, the doctor
tells his wife and children at the break-
fast table of his defeat. No one notices
that Jack, his sturdy ten-year-old, looks
very much interested, for he says
nothing.
A week later, hot and panting, he
comes rushing onto the lawn, holding
an enormous fish, and shouting at the
top of his voice: "I got him, papa! I
got him !" And, sure enough, he had
the orphan hanging from a forked stick.
All inquiries failed to find how he
was finally caught. It may be that our
orphan became too confident after his
last escape, and thus made an easy
prey.
Some of the boys say that Jack spent
the week since his father's failure wad-
ing in the stream in hunting caddis
worms, and used the queer little crea-
tures for bait.
Investigation only showed that a
long, stiff pole was found lying beside
the pool, with a strong line and a big
hook tied to it.
Jack's mother thinks her boy was too
excited to know how he ever did land
the fish, for he never told even her.
The village blacksmith, who first found
the pole, remarked: "Just derricked
him out!"
Thus ends the career of Mr. Trout,
and if you wish to hear more about him
you have only to drop in at the village
store where he was taken to be
weighed, and where sundry groceries
changed hands over wagers which had
been made during the long evenings of
the previous winter.
He had fought a good fight and had
fulfilled his mission in the world, as at
last on a platter trimmed with greens
he decorated the table of one of Na-
ture's noblemen, who was quite as
proud that his boy Jack had caught the
famous trout of the Eddy as if he had
done it himself.
UNSEAL MY LIPS
Unseal my lips that thou hast sealed in vain, —
Or thinkest thou to rule the tide's retreat,
Like old Canute, who thought 'twere but a kingly feat,
As wave on wave came crashing to the shore.
When thus, a sudden sea, my thought doth melt,
Ah, then I know my heart such need of thee hath felt.
And once the waves were hushed on Gallilee,
But this still speech that runs from hill to hill
Hath never yet obeyed behest of mortal will.
By night swift dreams^shall compass mine intrigue,
Though league on league of darkness lie between,
Or all the wide-blown sands the Libyan whirlwinds glean.
The Chance
By EDITH DE BLOIS LASKEY.
IT is not an unusual thing for two
brothers to desire the same
woman. That is an old trick of
the satirist, Fate. Consequently, when
Sam Nichols began to pay court to the
girl whom his brother Tom had been
patiently, reverently wooing for two
years, the good people of Crag Cove
simply wagged their heads wisely,
cited instances of similar complications
which had come within the range of
vision of themselves or their forebears,
and ended unanimously with the ejacu-
lation : "Poor Tom I" For to everyone
who knew the Nichols boys the end was
clear from the beginning. Did not
Sam always sweep everything before
him? Had he not, by means chiefly of
a certain glib cleverness, outstripped
Tom at school, over-ridden him in
sport, and usurped that share in their
father's confidence which seemed by
right to belong to the elder son? It
was only to be expected that Eunice
Day would be seen less and less fre-
quently with Tom and more and more
often in the company of Sam, until
before many months she was carried a
bride to a fine, large, white house set
on a hill and shaded by tall elms, which
Sam had secured at a tremendous bar-
gain as the result of a forced sale. "Just
Sam Nichols* luck !" people said. And
no doubt many of the girls of Crag
Cove rather envied Eunice the privilege
of presiding in that stately mansion.
As for Tom, he sank into obscurity.
Always a reserved, diffident lad, in
losing the one precious prize for which
he had ever consciously contended in
rivalry, he seemed to lose whatever
vestige of self-confidence he had pos-
sessed. It was a pity! The love and
trust of a woman would have done
much to virilize his self-doubting na-
ture. As it was, the tendrils of his
sensitive spirit drew back withered:
all the forces of a sympathetic heart,
a contemplative mind, and a moral be-
ing of singular purity recoiled on them-
selves and left him shut off from the
world of his fellows. The only capa-
bility he exhibited was that of silent
suffering. He was of the stuff from
which martyrs are made, but not suc-
cessful men of affairs. Ploddingly, con-
scientiously, he performed the duties of
an humble employee in his father's shoe
factory, and, when the work of the day
was over, took solitary walks about the
outskirts of the town or shut himself
up in a small room on the top floor of
his father's house, his one retreat,
which he allowed no one to enter.
"Queer," the neighbors called him,
and sometimes they tapped their fore-
heads slyly as he passed.
Eunice Nichols, in her proud home
behind the elms, seldom saw the man
whose life had been blighted by love of
her; for the breadth of a little town
may be as great a barrier as a con-
tinent to those who will not meet, just
as the circle of the wide world is small
to the love that comes to claim its
own. She was not without knowledge
of him, however; for there were those
of her friends who held that any fair
woman, however tender-hearted, can
but feel a thrill of pride in the fatal
work of her charms. So they whis-
pered to her occasionally over their
tea or sewing some bit of gossip about
Tom's peculiar ways, and, although
Eunice said little in return, she did not
seem unwilling to listen.
And it was not surprising that Eu-
nice found some pitiful, tragic satisfac-
i
i
THE CHANCE
223
tion in the knowledge that the marks
of an ill-starred affection had never
faded from her former lover's heart.
For the illusion of her own marriage
had vanished long since. Learning to
know her husband better, she had come
to recognize the fact that her place
in his life was a minor one, that he
had simply chosen her as a fitting mis-
tress for his house, a woman capable
of filling the position of wife to a man
of consequence, as he had always in-
tended to be. It was, perhaps, only
Tom's attention to her which had
made him notice her and single her
out from the rest. "Any other woman
would have done just as well," she
often cried bitterly to herself. "Why
did he not leave me in peace?" It was
not that she pined for his affection,
for she had not been led into her mar-
riage by the promptings of a true love.
Looking backward, how simple and
transparent now seemed the irritating
insinuations, the mysterious allusions
by which Sam had belittled his brother
and stung her pride! How cleverly,
too, he had pushed his advantage at
just the right moment ! She had seen
him do it since in driving a bargain,
and the sight always gave her a stab
of recollection which made her feel
more like a chattel than ever. Little
children's living, clinging hands might
have drawn her closer to her husband,
but the tiny graves in the Hill Burying-
ground did not serve as a bond be-
tween them; for she could not forgive
his indifference to the death of the
weak girl baby, while the father's bit-
ter rage and disappointment over the
loss of the boy who was to have carried
on the family name and influence in the
business world was a hard, morose
grief which repelled sympathy and
utterly refused the consolation of ten-
der, shared recollections.
For thirty years Eunice Nichols had
lived in the house to which she came
a bride of twenty, when one morning
her husband, as he rose from the
breakfast table, remarked with his
habitual abruptness: "I'm going to
bring Tom up here this afternoon."
The color flooded into his wife's
face, and then receded, leaving it pale.
"Tom!" she said hesitatingly. "Why,
he never comes here."
"Well, there's no reason why he
shouldn't, is there? Since Father's
death Mary has bought the house, and
there's no reason why he should live
there. He's sick, you know — his lungs
were always weak — and we have more
room than Mary has with that large
family. It's the best thing to do. I
shall bring him up to-day. Get a
room ready."
Eunice had no answer; and, when
the door closed behind her husband,
she still sat staring dumbly before her.
.Tom coming there to stay! Tom, who
had avoided her for thirty years, to
be a member of the same household !
Was her husband blind? Had he,
who could retail so accurately for
years afterward the details of a busi-
ness transaction, completely forgotten
the circumstances under which he had
obtained his wife? And why was he
doing this? Could it be that he was
actually considerate for Mary's con-
venience and for Tom's well-being?
That afternoon Tom Nichols was
visited unexpectedly by his brother
Sam, and almost before poor Tom,
sick and weak from an attack of
coughing, could realize what was
happening, he was bundled into a coat
and his nastily packed trunk carried
down the stairs, while his sister, mys-
tified and troubled, looked on or obeyed
the curt directions of her domineering
brother Sam.
"My God !" was Tom's cry, when he
came to grasp the truth. "Am I to
be turned out of my father's house —
out of my room, the only place I ever
had? Keep me here, Mary! Let me
stay here, for the love of Heaven!"
But Mary, like everyone else in the
family, was the slave of Sam's will ;
and so poor, sick Tom was led — al-
most forced — into the carriage and
driven to the house behind the elms,
where a white-faced woman tried with
stiff and trembling lips to bid him wel-
come.
224
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
Thus it was that Eunice Day and
Tom Nichols came into each other's
lives again. At first it was all a hor-
rible mockery, — the forced interchange
of civilities, the fluttering attempts at
speech. Gradually, however, there
came a change ; for years can build no
abiding barrier between the truly con-
genial. Eunice's sweet, delicate face,
framed in its soft, gray hair, rose like
a star on the horizon of Tom's barren
life; and, now that the passions of
youth were burned out, he could reap
a dear delight from her gentle presence
and her sympathetic conversation,
even though he knew that she was not
for him. Eunice, starved for the com-
panionship which her marriage had not
given, rejoiced to find behind the out-
ward personality which the world
called "queer" that kindly, chivalrous
spirit which she had known. Broken
in health he undoubtedly was, a man
whose days were numbered, poorer in
spirit than in earlier days, crushed,
indeed, by a lifetime of monotonous
labor and stifled hope. Yet it was as
if she had reached the one blessed
oasis in the desert of her life, to drink
once more of that kindness and com-
prehension which she had but tasted
and then left, alas, how hastily !
So the lovers, separated in youth,
found each other again. Sam was al-
ways too busy to spend social hours
with his wife; hence to Tom and Eu-
nice were left the evenings before
the fire, when Eunice's needles softly
clicked a harmonious undertone to
their speech, and Tom, sitting in
the shadow, watched the trembling
fire-gleams as they played across her
face. Sitting there, Eunice gradually
came to consult with Tom about house-
hold matters, which she had never
dared intrude upon her husband's at-
tention, and they drew from these dis-
cussions of little things that comfort
and encouragement which underlies a
simple conversation between those who
love and understand each other. They
came to talk of their youth; not of
those two short years which each re-
membered so well, but of the days be-
fore that, of the merry-makings enjoyed
by their set of young people in the
little town, recalling old jokes, retelling
old anecdotes. Then, once, when they
had sat silent for a long time, Eunice
spoke of the little graves on the Hill —
of the fair, vigorous boy — of the sweet,
sickly little girl ; and Tom touched the
chord of her grief so gently and ten-
derly that it eased her pain. So they
sat and talked until late. It might have
been their own fire-side ; it might have '
been their common grief.
It was, of course, a business matter
that, about half a year after Tom's
coming, called Sam Nichols to N.ew
York for a week. When he returned,
his wife met him at the door with pale
and anxious face. "Tom is very sick,"
she whispered. "He won't live, I'm
afraid."
Her husband started. "What!" he
thundered. "I thought he was good
for six months yet !"
The woman shrunk before the rough-
ness of his speech. "His heart," she
faltered.
"His heart! Great Scott! Have
you had the doctor?"
"Yes, of course. He left some med-
icine for the attacks. I must go up. 1
don't dare leave him."
"Yes, go back quick ! I'm going
over to get John Morton. What a fool
I've been to waste so much time !"
"Get Mr. Morton, the lawyer!
Why?" exclaimed his wife.
"To make his will. Good Lord,
what do you suppose I brought him
here for, anyway? For you to cos-
set?" There was a sneer in his laugh.
He seized his hat and hurried out of
the door.
Eunice stood still at the foot of the
stairs with her hand pressed against
her heart, which was beating strangely,
like that poor, strained heart in the
room above. This was the explana-
tion, then. It was for Tom's share in
his father's estate that her husband
had brought him there. He had not
forgotten the story of the past, either.
His jeering speech had shown that.
Too utterly indifferent to her to object
THE CHANCE
225
himself to the presence in their home
of his wife's early lover, he treated
their feelings with deliberate disre-
gard and scorn. Thus lay clear in all
its cold meanness the one act of her
husband which she had thought might
have proceeded from sincere if over-
officious kindness.
She turned and, slowly mounting the
stairs, entered Tom's chamber. The
sick man lay asleep. Sometimes he
moaned; sometimes his eyelids quiv-
ered as if in pain. Eunice moved
quietly about; she lowered the shade
over the light, she raised the window
to freshen the air, she folded back a
quilt which seemed to lie too heavy
upon the sleeper in that warm spring
night. All the time her thoughts
dwelt with that pale face on the pillow.
She could foresee the scene that would
so soon follow — the lawyer's pom-
posity, her husband's hard, eager face,
and the dying man, too weak to know,
tracing his signature with nerveless
hand. Of course, such a will might be
broken; but who would dare to stand
out against Sam, whose word in family
affairs was law? Ah, why had she not
told Tom by what means Sam had
robbed him of her? Why had she not
foreseen, to warn him, that he might,
even at death's door, resist this last ag-
gression? How she longed to help
him win one victory at least in that
frustrate life of his ! She felt as if
she would give her soul to aid him.
Suddenly, as she gazed, that strange
change which she had come to know
began to steal across his face. In-
stinctively, with throbbing pulses, she
reached for the medicine bottle. Just
then steps sounded on the flagging out-
side. A thought, piercing and awful,
flashed through her mind. Her blood
seemed to freeze, her muscles to
stiffen, but her brain was agonizingly
clear. Could she indeed help him?
Had her chance come in this terrible
way? A hoarse sound of voices rose
from the room below. She set the
bottle, unopened, back in its place, and
sank on her knees beside the bed.
"Forgive me — forgive me — God !"
she pleaded brokenly, and murmuring
"Tom— Tom— " in the tender tone that
his conscious ears had never heard, she
drew his poor head to her breast.
It was a few minutes later that her
husband and the lawyer came up the
stairs. She met them composedly at
the door.* "Hush," she said, "he is
dead." And there was a smile upon her
face.
THE SPENDTHRIFT
By JAMES OWEN TRYON
For many a day I wandered
My garden ways, alone,
And all their wealth I squandered.
For was it not mine own?
With hands not made for keeping
I -lavished of the best,
And yet I left none weeping
That I should take the quest.
Would that I had one flower
For her who bids me live !
But barren is her bower
And naught have I to give.
Chanteceer" as presented by M. Guitry
ROSTAND'S CHANTECLER
By EDMOND MARQUAND
'I am in love with luxury;
The love of the sun hath won for me
The splendid and the beautiful."
SO wrote Sappho; so might have
written Edmond Rostand of him-
self. A rhapsodist, he, of the
luxuriousness of the inanimate; but
when he is not so rhapsodizing how he
smells of the midnight oil !
Chanticleer is the most over-labored
literary production that I know of,
mingled with spontaneous outbursts of
splendid impressionism.
Hailed as "one of the keenest satires
on humanity ever written," it is, in all
that it reflects of humanity about as
trite and uninspired as anything could
be. Here is no ravisher of the crown
of Aristophanes.
But let us take seriously the advise-
ment of the prologue that it is Sunday
on the farm, and the human population
have gone for the day. The barn-
yard becomes the world, its most
trivial belongings the serious setting
of the piece. And never was there
such a glorification of minutiae. We
expect to see the bee take a derrick
to lower the pollen from the honey-
suckle. A magnifying glass, indeed,
has been dropped between our eyes
and the stage.
The personages of the drama are not
men and women masquerading in
feathers, but farm fowls endowed with
human speech and sentiments as a con-
cession to our dulness and that we
might understand the story.
Chanticleer himself is never less
human and more a gorgeous fowl than
in the midst of his vaunting hymn to
the sun. And the little chick is never
more a chick and less a human child
than when he gets choked over his
big name from Roman history — "Cali —
cali — gu — gu — gula." The old hen
poking her head out of the basket to
utter a sententious old saw is the very
apotheosis of an old hen. It might not
seem so on the stage, but so it appears
from a reading of the play.
Scratching for chance morsels of
food is the serious business of life, and
the gravity with which the lines are
interrupted to run for a grain of corn
is a part of the drollery of the piece.
The humorousness of the thing is
not the humorousness of human but of
barnyard life. This man, Rostand, has
saturated himself with the comicality
of la basse-cour, and touched it with
the poetry of rural atmosphere — which,
in quite a French fashion, seems to him
to be synonymous with "Nature."
In the instantaneousness with which
it creates an atmosphere, almost from
the first line of the prologue, and en-
velopes us in a world of imagination,
it is splendidly creative poetry. So also
is its vital, impressionistic use of de-
scriptive epithet. It is poetical in the
field of its observation, in its enthusi-
asm and its drollery.
A description of the play and its
manner of presentation on the stage
would tend to give quite a different im-
pression. Such a description reveals
all its grotesquerie and clumsiness, its
overloading with machinery and gen-
eral submergence of the idea in its
mere externals.
And this would seem to be the great
danger of the stage-production of the
piece; but of that we are not at all
competent to speak. It may be that
227
228
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
the thing is so finely done that the
poetry of it remains in spite of this
mass of curiosity-provoking mechan-
ism and external oddity, not to say
monstrosity.
It is, however, so obvious that it needs
no hearing of the piece to be very sure
that it leaves but small opportunity for
the exercise of the actor's art.
The Greek Drama exalted the poet.
The actor was little more than a rhap-
sodist, and spoke in hollow fashion
through a great, staring, immovable
mask. The pre-Elizabethan drama
subjected both actor and poet to the
tale itself. The actor became a mere
mummer, and, deservedly enough,
was held in no public estimation.
The Elizabethan drama emancipated
both actor and poet, while in the post-
Elizabethan drama the actor Avould
seem to be exalted at the expense of
tale and poet alike.
This piece would seem to reduce the
actor to the plane of a mere mummer,
all the fineness of the lines may give
him opportunity for declamation, while
it exalts all the other producing ele-
ments — the poet, the tale and the stage-
How Jean Coqueun pi,ays the roi,e
i,E chien
Cut oe hen eating, showing the
mechanism
manager, including under this last
general appellation the work of cos-
tuming and scene-making.
For this reason Chanticleer must re-
main unique, — an oddity. In deliber-
ately sacrificing the personality and
art of the actor, the author has thrown
aside one of the most import-
ant elements in dramatic pre-
sentation, and it is not pos-
sible that this can be success-
fully done save as a very great
novelty. The same kind of!
thing could not be done manyl
times and succeed.
But however faulty this
may be as a dramatic ideal
we cannot but welcome it as
a re-emancipation of the poet
■ — a much-needed reassertion
of his superiority to the actor
For it is just this tremendous
exaggeration of the actor's!
share in making the drama—
an exaggeration which is
largely the result of the com-
mercialism that finds the star-
ring of a favorite profitable— \
it is this exaggeration of the '
actor's part, I say, which has
brought playwriting to so lo^
a stage among us.
Chanticleer, therefore, 11
< » it
ROSTAND'S CHANTECLER
229
every phase of its production, furnishes
food for serious thought to the dra-
matic and critical world.
Of the characters, the black-bird is
the mocking mischief-maker; the dog
the easy-going, philosophic optimist;
the guinea fowl the vain snob ; the hen-
pheasant is the eternal feminine,
Chanticleer is self-sufficient masculin-
ity, while the gamecock plays the part
of deceptive friend and heavy villain
generally.
The piece opens with a prologue
ful hen-pheasant who is also ardently
wooed by a gamecock.
The second act presents the most
admired scenic effort of the piece. It
shows the great branch of a blasted old
pine tree stretching across the dark-
ness of the night in the heart of the
forest. Perched in the branches, hu-
man size, are the birds of the night,
and the owl proceeds to call their roll.
These birds declaim the hymn of
the night and then conspire among
themselves to get rid of Chanticleer,
MME, SlMONE AS I,A POUI.K FAISANE
which is very charming and intended
to put the audience en rapport with the
atmosphere of the play. The first act
is at sunrise in the barnyard. After
some preliminary chatter and barnyard
gossip, Chanticleer enters, hailed as a
very king, and, perched on the wall,
chants a hymn to the sun. This hymn
is a lyric of the most luxurious im-
agery and in it the author is at his best.
Chanticleer's recitation is interrupted
by the sarcastic gibes of the blackbird.
Chanticleer falls in love with a beauti-
for, they argue, if he is destroyed who
calls the sun to rise, there will be no
more day, and they, as rulers of the
night, will have uninterrupted sway.
It is, of course, impossible for the
audience to be sympathetically inter-
ested in such a conflict, so that not
only is there no magnetism of an
actor's personality, but there is also
no sympathy compelling neutral action
to maintain interest. All depends on
novelty and poetic charm.
In the third act Chanticleer learns of
230
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
M. Gaupaux IN THE ROI.E OE
I,A MERI.K
the conspiracy and fights a duel with
the gamecock, killing him in a great
battle and in spite of his prowess and
great spurs. Chanticleer's heart is,
however, so saddened by the treachery
of this false friend that he loses his
optimism. The hen-pheasant, who is
the prize for which the duel is fought,
dutifully confers her love upon the win-
ner of the battle.
This love proves to be the undoing
of Chanticleer. In the indulgence of
its softness, he fails to rise to greet
the sun, and this awful catastrophe is
the culminating tragedy of the piece!
When the play is presented in this
country its success in Paris and the
wonderful stage effects, especially the
ingenious costuming, will go far toward
giving it immense popularity. It is
more than doubtful, however, if so
poetical a piece will stand translating
very well and the charm of the lines,
including a wealth of rhyme, will of
necessity be lost in anything but a
French rendering.
As to the costuming, facts and fig-
ures concerning it is still good news
in Parisian journals. The public does
not seem to tire of the number of me-
tres of this and kilograms of that have
gone into the construction of this and
that piece of stage furniture. "Un coq
de race ordinaire a environ oui, 40 a
oui, 50 de hauteur," etc. All of which
is very edifying and serves to feed the
wonder of the populace.
For nearly a decade rumors and
stories as to the production have been
afloat. Strange tales have been al-
lowed to leak out from Cambo where
M. Rostand has been at work. The
French are past masters in the fine
art of advertising.
Now it is M. Edel, now it is Coque-
lin, now it is Frohman or Massenet
who has been seen in serious confer-
ence with the great dramatic author.
Again there is an important meet-
ing between MM. Hertz, Jean Coque-
lin, Edel and Rostand. Everything,
the public is told, is being carried on
with the utmost secrecy! This secrecy
does not prevent the public from learn-
ing that over two hundred preliminary
sketches of the stage setting were
made before success was reached, that
the original model for Chanticleer is
already sacredly guarded as a price-
less relic, thatM. Rostand sent a dis-
patch to M. Edel at Porte-Saint-Martin
to the effect that "the designs of Edel
idealize my work," and that M. Edel
in a transport of joy requests the ori-
ginal autograph of the dispatch and
has it framed as the choicest souvenir
in his studio. We are permitted to
learn, so profound is the secrecy,,
what vast sum the American impres-
sario has paid for the American rights
of production, etc., etc.
As the result of all this cunning
publicity the first night of the piece
was a world event! The very scratch
of the pen of the recluse in rural
Cambo was heard around the world !
To add to what was already the
superlative of publicity the opening
of the piece finds the author plunged
into two law suits, one with a Chicago
millionaire for plagiarism and the
other for use of certain designs. In
fact, the play comes pretty near to
ROSTAND'S CHANTECLER
231
filling the horizon of the French
journalist. And the waves of all this
excitement, in spite of the efforts of
the press, are permitted to dash upon
our own shores !
It is quite safe to say that Chanti-
cleer will not be a money-losing propo-
sition. In the meanwhile Paris is,
for the moment, the metropolitan
centre of the theatrical world, and all
other places are provincial cities that
must await their turn for as good an
imitation of the original as may be
produced.
All this furnishes food and to spare
for the cynic, but that does not alter
the fact that Rostand has again pro-
duced a remarkable play that is at the
same time a piece of literature.
Le paon, the peacock
A Prophecy for the Future
By D. N. GRAVES
IT has been said that prophecy is
dead, and the kind of prophecy
that depends for its inspiration
upon dreams, and soothsayers, and fish-
wives is dead, and well so.
But there is a new, and better, proph-
ecy alive in the world to-day — a
prophecy founded upon reason, upon
logic, and, perhaps also, upon intui-
tion; and he who possesses the gift of
this new prophecy rolls away the mys-
terious curtain which divides the pres-
ent from the future, and lays hold upon
the golden thread of purpose that is in-
terwoven with the great scheme of
things, and there comes to him a more
and more intimate touch and a keener
understanding of the meaning and pur-
poses of life. This new prophecy is so
little like the prophecy of old that I
hesitate even to call it prophecy, and
much prefer the greater word, "vision."
It takes but an instant to flash a vi-
sion upon the imagination, but some-
where back of this flash there must be
a dynamo, and I wish, so far as I may,
to offer you a prophecy flashed by the
dynamic power of reason, and so to
make of this vision a living, tangible
thing, to the end that we may see, and,
seeing, believe.
This prophecy which I hope to focus
for you has to do with the tremendous
power that is destined to be exercised
upon the world by publicity — by printed
words.
Printed words already bring into our
lives an influence and a power that we
rarely, if ever, stop to analyze. We are
so accustomed to our daily newspapers
and hourly mails, to cables under the
seas and cobwebs of wires over the
lands, that it is difficult for us to con-
ceive that there ever was a time when
there were no printed words; when the
232
sole communication between the mem-
bers of the human family was by word
of mouth and limited to the reach of
the human voice.
Not until four hundred years ago did
printed words begin to exert an influ-
ence upon the world. Since then, year
by year, the printed word has grown
into power. Generation by generation
the experience of man has been treas-
ured up in these printed words, and the
sum of each of the world's years of toil
and joy and experience has been etched
in this great book of human life.
And as this volume has grown with
the years, so also has the ability of the
people to interpret it increased through
broader and more universal education,
until now the influence of printed words
is raised to the — nth power, and they
have become the mightiest agency of
mankind. And, what is infinitely im-
portant, this wonderful power of printed
words makes for the uplifting of man-
kind, for. the betterment of life. Car-
lyle says, "Writing is the most mar-
velous of all things man has devised.
With the art of writing the true reign
of miracles for mankind commenced."
From printed words we gather unto
ourselves the wisdom and experience
of the years that have gone before.
They bring to us visions of other ages
and of other peoples. They are the
moving pictures of events that would'
otherwise be hidden in the shadows of
the years. They flash light upon the im-
agination, the hopes, the passions, the
aspirations and the deeds of a younger
world. They quicken again for us the
heart-beats of the multitudes of an-
other day. They speak to us of the
despair of mankind as it sweat through
the toiling centuries. They shriek of
the hatred and agony of blood-stained
A PROPHECY FOR THE FUTURE
233
war; they gibber of the loathesomeness
of disease, and they whisper to us of
the loves that have been the nectar of
life since they began.
Printed words join us to all that has
been before ; they are the mighty links
that bind together the centuries — the
wireless messages from the dead to the
living. Printed words enable each new
generation to lay the bottom stone of
its foundations in the still wet cement
of the capstone of the preceding one.
It is not, however, the greatest func-
tion of printed words to materialize for
us the spirits of the past,, and to tell us
of the wonders of the years on which
the sun has forever set, but to tell us
also of the living, breathing, hopeful,
joyful present. They bring home to us
the strivings and the problems of the
every day of our own life and time.
No workshop is so far away, no
problem upon which a human mind is
at work is so intricate and so far in ad-
vance of the time but that some inkling,
some knowledge of it, filters to us
through printed words, and encourage-
ment floods back again to the worker
from this knowledge that the world
knows and waits. Printed words play
upon our heartstrings with news of
calamities at the other side of theworld,
and printed words carry back again,
sympathy and aid and comfort to the
afflicted.
Printed words set us down beside the
mighty deeds that are being done by
man in every corner of the earth. They
drop us into the great ditch that is des-
tined to make separate continents of
North and South America. They carry
us over the frozen wastes with Peary to
the apex of the earth; they set us be-
side the physician who demonstrates a
new victory over death ; they introduce
us to the great parliaments of the world
and bring us into intimate touch with
every human endeavor. They broaden
put the human mind until its interests
and its sympathies reach around the
world, and until we are in a sense one
people.
Printed words are doing more than
any other human force to hasten the
great millennium when we shail all be
brothers and the interest of one shall
become the interest of all.
As a concrete evidence of their power
for good there is abroad in the world
to-day a new conception of honor and
honesty in business. Even within the
past five years the whele people have
assumed a higher attitude toward thine
and mine. The searchlight of publicity
has been turned into the dark, ratty
corners of commercial life, and there
has been a scurrying of unclean meth-
ods and dishonest graft as brings a
saner and sunnier spirit and observance
into the traffic of the world.
This has become a house-cleaning
time for the great corporations. The
window curtains, which have made se-
cret their places of business, have come
down and the sunshine of publicity
floods in ; the soft rugs that have muf-
fled the footfalls of those who crept
stealthily away from the vaults with
stolen gains have been hung upon the
line ; the secret ledgers have been given
to the flames, and the burglar-alarm
has been once more put in order. All
of this is only one manifestation of the
tremendous power for good of the
printed word.
Everyone here is interested in some
manner in this great power of printed
words — in publicity. Publicity means
advertising, and in their final analysis
all printed words are advertising.
The most interesting possibilities of
advertising are connected with com-
mercial life — with the marketing of
things — for here it touches us closest to
our pocketbooks. There is no other
field for the use of printed words which
has widened so enormously within the
past few years as has this one. Even
yet, however, the commercial world is
not awake to the tremendous power of
this giant of traffic — this mighty builder
of business; but the alarm clock is set
and the appointed hour draws near.
Here, then, is the prophecy for the
future :
I have a vision, and it is of a day
when practically the whole business of
the earth will be conducted with the
printed word ; when every commercial
need of mankind will be told in print,
234
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
and when all the goods of the earth
will be offered in print; when the ter-
rific waste of time and effort, the
weary traveling up and down in the
land with mountains of samples, will
no longer be known, and when the
salesman shall no longer be a wan-
derer on the face of the earth, and may
once more live the life of a sane and in-
telligent being; when he who has goods
to sell will offer them in black and
white, and with such a keen perception
of exact proportion and of truth as will
enable the buyer to cover his needs,
with no chance of disappointment ;
when the buyer will state his needs,
also in black and white, with such a
clear discrimination as will leave no
room for misunderstanding.
Have you ever seen a disturbed ant-
hill, and noticed the thousands of ants
scurrying all about, apparently without
any sense of direction or purpose, every
one of them on the run, climbing over
and under one another, and accomplish-
ing nothing whatever with aU their
haste and effort?
If the earth could be put under a
microscope I imagine our commercial
edifice would appear quite as disturbed
as the ant-hill, and the traveling men
who sell the output of our factories and
mills and stores would seem much like
the ants. No doubt it has occurred to
you, as it has to me, that in the final
equation of business, traveling sales-
men create no added demand — that
consumption finally depends only upon
the buying capacity of the people. If
all the traveling men were taken off the
road, the demand for goods and the
power to consume would remain there
just the same, — and here there is an-
other flash of the same prophecy — a vi-
sion of the traveling salesman of the
future.
Let me give you my ideal of a travel-
ing salesman. We send to a half-dozen
or more of the great publications of the
country an electro five and a half by
eight inches, which tells in terse, con-
vincing and truthful words of the goods
we have to sell. The great printing
presses are set in motion ; barrels of ink
and miles upon miles of paper are fed
into them ; and upon a given day not
one, not ten, not a hundred, but mil-
lions of salesmen are offering our goods
to the world.
These salesmen invade the great
cities ; they walk with the mailman into
the high buildings; they pass through
the outer offices, and no office boy pre-
sumes to ask their names or business ;
unchallenged, they invade the inner
sanctum of business and stand at the
desk of the man who does, and talk to
him of our goods in our own words and
in our own way. They enter the pala-
tial homes of the rich and sit in the
beautiful libraries, and in hours of leis-
ure speak of our plant and the goods it
produces. They swarm in the smaller
cities and towns and hamlets, and
wherever there are people who have
use for our goods there they are pres-
ent. They ride in the rural delivery
wagons through storm and sunshine
over all the roads of the country, stop-
ping at the comfortable farm firesides,
and bringing to these people a touch of
the greater and busier world outside,
and a knowledge of and a desire for the
goods we are making. They hail the
miners in the far fastnesses of the
mountains ; they make interest with the
woodmen in the depths of the forest;
they follow the wagon trails into the
deserts, and they go down to the sea
with fishermen and sponge-gatherers.
Another week and they are afloat on all
the seas, and, shortly, in all the world
wherever one or two are gathered to-
gether, or where a man may be who
reads the language, there these sales-
men are counted present and every-
where they tell the story of our busi-
ness and of the value of our goods, and
these salesmen are Printed Words.
These salesmen send no salary de-
mands to our offices ; they forward no
expense accounts to us ; they carry no
loads of samples ; they pay no railroad
fares and no hotel bills ; they entertain
no buyers ; they graft neither upon us
nor upon our customers ; there is no
misrepresentation of our business or of |
our wares ; our undertakings are pre
sented to the world on the same plane|j
of honor and integrity of purpose that
A PROPHECY FOR THE FUTURE
235
we have adopted as a standard for our
own personal dealings — and again I say
these salesmen are PRINTED WORDS.
Is this vision Utopian? Does it seem
to be only a speculation of the imag-
ination? If so, we have failed to note
many things which point with definite
and unerring finger to the coming of
this very thing.
Even during the past ten years there
has been such a wonderful evidence of
the growing power and use of printed
words in the business life of the world
as staggers the imagination.
What is the significance of the enor-
mous number of new publications which
have come into existence during the
past decade? Why have many of them
jumped, even in a few months, to a cir-
culation unbelievable a few years ago?
Why are the older publications print-
ing twice and three times the number
of pages at one-half the subscription
price of ten years ago? Why are
the circulations doubling within the
changes of the moon, and why have
newspapers grown in number and cir-
culation with each succeeding day, and
so increased in size and space that the
Sunday editions are a tax to the mind'
and a burden to the soul? What is the
meaning of circulations running into
millions?
There is one reason and one meaning
for all this, and just one : It is because
of the increased use and power of
printed words in the world's traffic.
The publishing business of the world
has been revolutionized — actually re-
versed — during the past few years by
this influence. Originally, magazines
were printed and sold for the fiction
they contained, and the advertising was
incidental. To-day they are valuable
by reason of the advertising they con-
tain, and the fiction is incidental.
These publications remind me of the
definition of a peninsula which I learned
when a boy — they are a small body of
reading matter almost entirely sur-
rounded by advertising.
No wonder that Mr. Dooley wonders
when publishers will get over their
foolishness, anyway, and cut out the
reading matter altogether.
If further proof were needed of the
growing use, power and influence of
printed words, we would find it in gov-
ernment reports. The United States is
in the business of carrying printed and
written words. In 1880 it collected
thirty-three million dollars for this ser-
vice. In 1908 it collected one hundred
and ninety-two million dollars, and,
mind you, during this period letter
postage had been reduced from three
cents to two cents, and the rate on
printed words from four cents per
pound to one cent per pound.
The wonderful growth of the mail-
order business is another concrete evi-
dence. These mail-order houses employ
no traveling salesmen, they show no
samples of their wares and they fatten
no middlemen. There are two of these
great mail-order houses in Chicago
alone, each doing an annual business
of many millions of dollars. One of
them, established only fourteen years,
mails every business day of the year
twenty-two thousand catalogues of
twelve hundred pages each, and it has
six million customers on its books to-
day. These houses sell nearly every
implement, goods and supplies used in
the world, and all of these are offered
in no other way than in printed words
and pictures, and these houses have sat-
isfied customers and a reputation for
integrity and honest dealing in every
hamlet in the world.
And all of this evidence of the great
trade wind that is driving the ships of
commerce out of the stormy seas of a
mistaken system of traffic into the
smoother channels and harbors of
printed words.
There are other and fundamental rea-
sons why the traffic of the world will
eventually be conducted in written and
printed words.
When business is so done it brings
the producer and consumer into imme-
diate touch, so that each may know and
respect the needs of the other. It means
enormous economies, for it eliminates
the middleman, and so lowers the cost
of the goods to the consumer by the
amount of his profit. It cuts out the
jobber, who now stands at the cross-
236
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
roads and takes toll, and puts in his
stead storage and shipping stations.
It puts a printed price on goods
which represents mere cost of produc-
tion plus the small percentage of one
profit, and this price will be known to
be the same to all. It takes a broad-
axe and chops up the fossilized remains
of that hoary old stunt of a "list price,
with ten, five and two off."
No system of traffic can be perma-
nent which passes commodities through
the hands of two to five profit-absorb-
ing merchants between the producer
and the consumer, and which thus com-
pels the consumer to pay double and
treble, and sometimes even five times,
the first cost of the goods.
But there is need of something
broader and deeper than all this. Not
so much would be gained by turning
the commercial world away from a
wasteful, extravagant and mistaken
method of traffic unless this change
were freighted also with a great uplift
in the ethics of trade.
Here, after all, lies the great power
and the final proof of the universal ap-
plication of printed words to the ex-
change of the commodities of the earth.
When the world's business is pre-
sented and concluded in black and
white, nearly every opportunity for
misrepresentation will be eliminated.
We have all noticed that the less care-
ful a man is of his faith, the more he
hedges on putting his representations
down in black and white. With this
more scientific system of traffic in force,
the expression, "his word is as good as
his bond," will be obsolete, for both
will mean exactly the same thing. His
word will be patterned after his bond,
and not his bond written to confirm to
his word.
We get but a slight glimpse in the
printed word of to-day of the enormous
commercial field it will eventually
cover, but even now a new standard of
business ethics is being created by this
influence. A new religion of business is
abroad in the marts of trade. Even now
the better publications offer their pages
for the printed words only of those
whose businesses are known to be hon-
est ; and the lines are drawn closer and
closer which will finally drive the fraud
and the faker into the outer world of
personal solicitation. The list of busi-
nesses whose printed words you find in
the best publications has already be-
come something of a roll of honor, and
these very businesses will themselves
become more and more careful as to
the company their printed words keep
in these publications.
Then, too, every day brings with it
a broader interpretation of business —
an added dignityto these printed words.
They are beginning to show that the
business man has vision, and the best
of these printed words have in them
an appeal to the imagination, a "some-
thing" about them, that reads an uplift
into commercial intercourse.
The day is almost here when the best
of all the world's products will be of-
fered in print, and when the best of
the world's business men will so offer
them. When this day does actually
come, the logic of circumstance will
force all men who make good goods,
and who barter them honestly, to set
the value and character of their wares
also to printed words, and the channels
of commerce will then be closed to
shoddy goods and shoddy merchants.
We have a right to be proud that
America has been the first to catch this
vision, and is showing the way to the
east of the world in this new and better
science of traffic. Great commercial
states have always been centers of civil-
ization, and centers of those forces
which keep civilization alive and which
lead it ever upward. Commerce unifies
the human race. Every social, ethical
and economic problem which clamors
for solution to-day is bound up with
this very exchange of commodities, an
exchange which is based more and
more upon the printed word. It is safe|
to say that our ideal and our ethics, no
less than our standard of living, are in-
fluenced more largely by the broad dis-
semination of business information
through printed words than upon the
circulation of idealistic or ethical lit-
erature.
And now, what does this prophecy ofj
A PROPHECY FOR THE FUTURE
237
this great power of printed words mean
to New England, for our own state and
city and for ourselves?
Printed words will carry to the peo-
ple everywhere a better conception of
the wonderful manufacturing activity
of New England ; they will make New
England-made goods a standard of
value and quality throughout the
world ; and, if we will it, they will also
make the New England business man a
standard for honesty, integrity and fair
dealing wherever in all the earth trade
and barter prevail.
Printed words will tell the world of
the delight of New England summers ;
of the bays and sounds, the islands
and rocks, in our wonderful shore line ;
of our breezes, loaded by old ocean with
a new vitality; of the shimmer of the
sea and the slow pulse of the tides.
They will sing of the perfection of
beauty in our valleys and hills and
mountains ; they will speak of the hush
and mystery and restfulness of our
woods and lakes. And with these lures
New England will become, as she de-
serves to become, the summer play-
ground and resting-place for all those
who are weary and heavy laden.
Printed words will*plant our aban-
doned farms and fields to orchards, un-
til in blossoming time the air will be
as full of falling petals as of snowflakes
in December; and these blossoming or-
chards will lie on thehillsides like snow-
banks touched to pink and purple by
the sunshine.
Printed words will make the stately
pine and spruce and hemlock to
stand again in the wide places made
naked by the ruthless axe of the
lumberman.
Printed words will make our cities
better and more healthful places in
which to live; they will give us better
schools and playgrounds and happier
play-fellows; they will bring us more
sanitary homes, cleaner and lighter fac-
tories, and, together with all these, will
elevate the quality of our citizenship.
And, finally, printed words will bring
us the gift of prophecy, and, with this,
broader minds, greater hearts and a
more perfect understanding of God's
purposes and ways.
From an address by Mr. Graves at a recent Pilgrim Publicity Association dinner
Nannette
By OWEN MASON
WONG, the embodiment of
placid misery, occupied one
corner of the patio, his flimsy
unlined clothing hanging damply about
his yellow, steamed-out flesh.
Aunt Lydia, maintaining the dignity
of isolation in so far as a little sixteen-
foot patio would permit, had taken pos-
session of the corner diagonally op-
posite. It was their utter lack even of
the idlest pretense of occupation that
provoked Nannette's amusement as she
suddenly appeared in the doorway.
"I am surprised, Aunt Lydia, that
you and Wong should set me such an
example !" she exclaimed, mockingly.
The dark interior behind her con-
trasted sharply with the white, molten
sun-light that flooded the open center
of the patio. A large sombrero and a
riding crop held lightly in one hand
added a picturesque touch to the other-
wise almost home-spun simplicity of
her toilet. A girl who could always
achieve smartness of appearance in the
heat of a Mexican midsummer and with
the limited resources of a semi-camp
wardrobe seemed possessed of an al-
most superhuman competency.
Somewhere from the interior could
be heard the restless turnings of a bed-
ridden invalid.
"Water!" he called querulously.
Wong shuffled a little forward with his
slippered feet and Aunt Lydia straight-
ened herself in her chair: both looked
at Nannette. But she only shook her
head.
"Hush !" she whispered, earnestly.
No one spoke or moved. The in-
valid fell into incoherent mutterings
that finally lapsed into a long-drawn
sigh as he turned again and fell into the
stertorous breathing of a heavy sleep.
"He does not wish water. He was
238
thinking of the men at the digging."
"Does not need water!" exclaimed
Aunt Lydia, impatiently. "He needs
everything. He needs someone at his
side constantly. He needs incessant
and loving attention — everything that
he is not receiving."
Nannette's face whitened wearily.
"If you knew how hard it is to withhold
those things, Auntie, you would not
talk so. To the very best of my knowl-
edge he needs just what he is receiv-
ing — absolue repose, broken with no
disturbing attentions beyond the re-
quirements of necessity. It would be
much easier for me to flutter over his
bedside night and day, but I know
that it is not the best way."
"That is your modern theory, Nan-
nette, and I may be old-fashioned, but
when I am dying I want people to
show their affection, if they have any,
by at least being within ear-shot."
"Aunt Lydia, how can you ! But
there is no use of our arguing."
"That is true. It always ends with
my proving that I am right and with
you having your own way. Where are
you going, Nannette?"
"To the digging."
"To the digging! It is impossible
that you really think of such a thing.
Even the natives avoid the trip in the
heat of the day. Besides, your father
needs you here."
"I think that father needs me on the
digging." Aunt Lydia burst out laugh-
ing. The idea of Nannette being of
any service on the digging was too ab-
surd for further rejoinder.
Glancing from the elder to the
younger woman, one could easily see
that they were of the same lineage
and, indeed, that there was a very
striking personal resemblance between
NANNETTE
239
In the patio
them; but one had been trained to the
limitations with which an older school
surrounded the idea of the well-bred
woman, while her more youthful
counterpart had grown up to the
largeness and freedom with which the
new century surrounds the same ideal.
"Nannette, you are always absurd;
but it is not necessary also to be stub-
born. I forbid you to go."
Nannette gravely concealed her
amusement while, just to be good-na-
tured, she drew from her elderly rela-
tive the wholly unnecessary permissive
edict.
Ten thousand dollars a mile was the
bonus to be paid by the. Mexican gov-
ernment for the completion of the
Yaqui railroad within the specified
time, and it had not seemed at first to
be a very difficult proposition.
The country was fairly level, the
mileage not great and the money and
materials amply provided by the
American capitalists who were pushing
the enterprise.
But that great, gray desert where
King Cactus reigned would not yield
up its dominion without a struggle.
Sandstorm after standstorm obliter-
ated in an hour the work of weeks. The
pitiless drought rendered the surface
240
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
as light as sifted ashes. The wagon
wheels sank to the hubs. Men and
animals staggered and failed under
their burdens. Peon labor was not
American labor, and Mexican dollars
were not American dollars. Time
dragged on and still that heart-break-
ing stretch of treeless plain remained
unbridged by the line of gleaming
steel.
It was a struggle of positive forces
against negative, of life against death,
of the burning desert against human
brain and brawn, and it was becoming
more and more evident daily that the
issue was to be fought out to the bitter
end. Agents of rival lines appeared
from time to time, shook hands with
Temple, the supervising engineer, con-
gratulated him and departed with a
grim smile.
Then came the sunstroke that con-
fined the energetic American to his
house, while the hours stretched into
days and the days into weeks. Anxiety
brought on fever, and Aunt Lydia, who
cared not a rap for the road, was justi-
fied in her serious view of his condi-
tion. If she could have had her way
she would have made a bonfire of all
their Mexican belongings, including
the pretty little adobe house that they
had built, paid Wong, the necessary
but (by her) detested Chinese servant,
and packed the invalid abroad the first
northerly-bound train. There she
would know what to do and how to do
it. Here, to her inexpressible annoy-
ance, Nannette was a far more adapt-
able and efficient manager than herself.
Indeed Nannette's efficiency and her
scorn of inefficiency of all kinds seemed
as masculine as the utter freedom of
her comings and goings and of her
opinions on all subjects, from the new
psychology to divorce. And yet she
was an arrant coquette, this same Nan-
nette, and in type, to the masculine
mind, at least, more feminine than her
more conventionally lady-like aunt.
To her father, particularly since the
death of his wife, she was beyond the
reach of criticism, the object of an al-
most religious worship.
Out at the great cut, which they had
come to call "the digging," big Alex-
andra was in charge. He knew his men
and how to manage them, but of rail-
roads his ideas were dim and hazy
enough and his will to do was subject
to intervals of sulky stupidity, during
which little went forward.
It was high noon when Nannette ar-
rived on the scene, familiar enough to
her, but it seemed very strange now
that she had come to try in some way
to tak$ her father's place. Would they
recognize her authority, or would any
attempt at its assertion result in the
sulks on the part of Alexandro? Al-
ready her presence had attracted atten-
tion. To the quick, jealous southern
minds of the men might it not appear
that she had come to spy on them?
Had she not already done irretrievable
damage?
Meanwhile the tropical sun blazed
down with an almost intolerable fierce-
ness, and one thought drove all else
from the mind of the generous girl, a
thought of pity for the suffering men
and beasts alike.
Dismounting from her wilted and
panting pony she made her way to the
tank car that contained the supply of
water. It was burning hot, and
scorched her hand as she touched it.
Big Alexandro, thinking that she
wished a drink, lumbered up and drew
a pail, producing a tin from which to
drink. Strongly alkaline and stained
with rust, the water was rendered still
less grateful by its little less than boil-
ing heat. Still if the men must drink
it, it would not do for her to refuse, and
she put her lips to the cup which the
peon leader offered, smiling her thanks
and addressing him in the pretty, lisp-
ing Spanish which she had learned.
Would he not scrape away the sand
and dig a small hole in the firm earth?
If the signorita wished, it should be
done. No, not there but down among
the men in the digging.
So, in the true peon style, the big,
simple, unquestioning fellow called
aside enough men to dig an entrench-
ment and made the little excavation
where she wished.
Then Nannette, enthusiastic and
NANNETTE
241
anxious for the success of her experi-
ment, had them draw the great, galvan-
ized iron pail full of water and place
it carefully in her little well where she
shielded it with her own bright sun-
shade.
The men returned to their work smil-
ing, but not unkindly, while Nannette
watched over her improvised well.
They thought her but a child at play.
But Nannette knew what she was
about. The evaporation from the sur-
face of the little imitation pool was
very rapid in the intense heat and, pro-
tected by the earth that surrounded it,
the water retained the coolness thus
produced.
Several times she tried it. Then she
called Alexandro and held the cup to
him with a smile whose witchery was
the same in all races and tongues.
No sooner had the cool refreshment
touched his lips than he withdrew it
in astonishment.
"Signorita, it is a miracle!" he said.
"Let the men drink," she answered.
And they came, one by one, the water
gurgling down their dry, parched
throats as the first rain that breaks the
dry season through the garden borders
in the patio. And as they drank Nan-
nette served, and when the pail was
emptied they brought more and all
the afternoon beneath her big, green
sunshade Nannette remained at her
post.
Toward the close of the day, when
the sun, like a huge silver ball, hung
low in the western sky, big Alexandro
drew near, and it was obvious from
his awkwardness that he wished to con-
vey some manner of thanks for himself
and his men. But Nannette seized her
opportunity and anticipated him.
"Some days, Alexandro, very much
more work is done than others."
"It is true, Signorita. This day much
has been done."
"But to-morrow is a Fiesta, and the
men will not work."
"It is true, Signorita."
"And there are many Fiestas and
much work, but not many days. Soon
the great men will come, — the governor
of Chihuahua, perhaps the president
himself and many men from my
country. They will come to see the
railroad finished, but it will not be
finished. They will ask us about it and
we will say the men went to Fiestas
and worked little on some days. But
if the men work well, the road will be
finished and we will say, the men
worked so well that all is done. They
even staid from the Fiestas that it
might be completed. And there will
be a great banquet and each shall be
rewarded."
For some time he did not seem in-
clined to answer, then the big fellow
laid aside his tool and looked down
into her eyes and said very slowly:
"Why have they not told us, Sig-
norita?" The question was simple and
it was a simple-minded fellow who
asked it. Yet Nannette did not find
it easy to answer. Somehow she felt
that any departure from the truth
would only bring into stronger relief
the too evident distrust of the manage-
ment.
"I have told you," she said at last.
Again the big peon reflected.
"It is true, Signorita, and it is not
impossible that the men will work even
on the Fiestas, if — "
"I will be here every day," she added
quickly, noting his embarrassed hesi-
tation.
"Then it will be a Fiesta here and
we will need no other. Even the
padre would say so."
The color crept into Nannette's
cheeks, in spite of herself. No cavalier
of the old school could have turned a
finer compliment or done it more gal-
lantly.
And how often Nannette had looked
at him and shuddered. What an animal
he had seemed as she looked at him and
the others through her father's eyes.
Many years of experience in Spanish-
American countries had led John
Temple to look upon the native labor
as an unmitigated evil — a thing to be
tolerated, cajoled, gotten along with
from necessity, and, whenever possible,
handled without gloves. He would have
been entirely convinced that if the
men knew of his present straits not a
242
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
soul of them would remain at work
for a single day. Many a hard experi-
ence had seemed to justify his opinion,
but to Nannette now, warm with the
sense of acknowledged kindness, how
different it all seemed — and how"
strange that she should bestandingthere
blushing at a compliment from the lips
of this great, hairy-chested fellow.
And how human and trustworthy he
seemed !
Before she realized what she was
doing she was telling him of her
father's illness and of the dire straits
of the work, and the need for the
straining of every nerve. She told him
of the distance to be covered, and the
amount of earth yet to be removed and
the number of days in which it must
be done. She saw him stoop and pick
up his tool and pat the earth with it,
and as she continued to talk she saw
his eyes brighten and his muscles
heave, and then he leaned on his tool
and stared and listened. And when she
had finished her throat was dry and
her limbs weak and she could have
burst into tears of over-wrought feel-
ing. And Alexandro without a word
led her to her pony and assisted her
to mount and said :
"It will be late soon, Signorita," —
that and no more, but there was a soft-
ness in his gruff voice and a manly
flash in his eye that filled Nannette
with a joyous but self-humiliating
sense of victory.
Day after day throughout the heated
hours Nannette stood by her strange
little well in the desert, and foot by
foot the lines of gleaming steel drew
nearer together.
At night she would enter her father's
room and take his hand and he would
rouse himself and know that she was
there and she would remain until he fell
again into that half-sleep which had
come to seem like his normal condition.
Nannette gazed eagerly at the sil-
ver spike. To see it driven at the ap-
pointed day and hour had been her
father's one thought for nearly two
years. Then she stooped and touched
his forehead with her lips. It was the
night before the Fiesta. Out by the
digging the desert glistened like sands
of silver beneath the August moon
that yet for all its flood of light could
not quench the brilliancy of the stars
that kept watch over that great, mois-
tureless plain : constellations unfamiliar
to our northern eyes that hung their
mystic signs in the vast, unbroken
azure. Nannette from the open case-
ment of her chamber gazed long on
the wonderful tropical night, until its
vastness reduced her petty, human
cares and anxieties to less than nothing-
ness. Even prayer seemed like an in-
trusion on a silence that was itself the
embodiment of all prayer. How long
she sat thus she could not have told;
when she became aware that for some
time she had been listening to a sound,
distant yet clear, broken yet rhythmical.
It defied identification. It was not to
be recognized as any of the usual night
sounds. It was not Wong shuffling
home from some nocturnal errand. It
was not the night boldness of the
coyotes out on the plain. It was not
the sentry at the little presidio, nor the
neighbors closing their houses for the
night, nor the music of a dance at
the public house. It was not the sick-
man turning in his bed, nor the creak-
ing rock, rock of Aunt Lydia's chair
that, like her own, had held its watch-
ing figure through so many of these
anxious nights.
It was more remote than any of
these, and yet there was a familiarity
about it, too. Clank, clank, clank;
scrape, scrape, scrape. Nannette
leaped to her feet and strained forward
through the open window. There is
no other sound like that, — the sound of
iron on iron and the moving of heavy
bodies : the men were working on the
digging !
Yes, out on the digging two hun-
dred pairs of brawny arms were swing-
ing bar and shovel, sledge and pick,
working as only men can who have
been moved by a noble impulse andj
who know that the rising of the sun
shall see the completion of a great en-
terprise. They were preparing a
Fiesta for our lady of the brown som-
brero.
1
The External Feminine
By JANE ORTH
"I am going out to get a gray cloth
suit to wear with this." My friend
held up a coral blouse of some soft
silk and I realized that at last her
sense of color was keenly alive.
There was nothing bizarre in the
statement. She had the keynote of a
color scheme and was about to de-
velop the composition which, when
completed, consisted of: A soft, gray
coat and skirt trimmed with black
braid and black and steel buttons, a
black straw poke bonnet with coral
ribbon trimmings and green leaves
finished with black ribbon — black
gloves — coral silk stockings and low,
black shoes.
This mode of proceeding is a very
satisfactory one for the well-dressed
woman to adopt. One may get the idea
for an entire outfit from .a piece of
braid trimming in which one very
often finds colors of a very exotic
blend. As the day of free thinking in
fashions is at hand one may take their
cue from any form of color scheme.
One of the novelties that will be
brought out in the spring for linen
suits is a kite-shaped coat. This gar-
ment is more or less of a compromise
between a long and a short jacket, for
the designers are grappling with the
coat problem. Some will make only
short coats, others cling to the long,
sweeping line, and the result is, may
be, entirely satisfactory — a-go-as-you-
please race in which each individual
wears what she thinks is. becoming.
So between the two strictly drawn
lines has appeared this compromise of
the coat. It makes up well in serge
or any of the light-weight woolens as
well as in linen and crash. The kite-
shaped coat in detail has a trim, short
front, single breasted, which buttons up
into the collar bone, and immediately
after the linen leaves the lowest but-
ton it begins to slope slightly down-
ward. It crosses the hips, and slopes
down the middle of the back in a nar-
row panel until it falls below the knees.
Instead of this panel being cut to a
point it is squared off, and thus you
get the name kite. This kite-shaped
coat has been brought out by the
American manufacturers, from models
sent over from Paris.
It is worn with a plaited skirt which
is not cut out very short, because if it
were it would spoil the effect of the
coat. The front of the coat is left un-
fastened to show the irrepressible frill.
This latter accessory will be seen on
all the new blouses. It is made of fin-
est material and finished with a hem-
stitched hem and a whiff of good lace.
There is another short coat that will
be brought out in the new linen and
light woolen suitings. This one is
single breasted and fastens a few in-
ches below the belt. From the point
it slopes away to a point on the hip
about six inches below the waist, and
then slopes up again in the back to a
point lower than the one in front. This
coat is rather difficult to make because
it does not fit into the waist line with
any degree of snugness, as did short
coats of other days. It must be ex-
tremely narrow over the hips, because
one's figure remains on these lines.
New Sleeves
One could talk forever about sleeves.
There is a wide variety: The peasant
type is most in evidence and by
peasant the dressmaker means the
rather straight sleeve that is cut with-
out armhole and is one with the shoul-
ders. The touch that makes this sleeve
243
I
244
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
genuine is the square patch underneath.
This is put on in diamond shape and
its edges are stitched over those of the
sleeve.
The long sleeve that goes by the
name of peasant is a wrinkled affair
that is seen on many of the peasant
costumes worn by men. It is a more
or less familiar sleeve in light opera,
but we have rarely seen it applied to
women's clothes.
This sleeve reaches to the wrist, is
cut in one piece, and is stitched up
the underarm after the fulness has
been folded in to make the correct
length. It is merely a primitive way of
adjusting a long, almost straight, piece
of cloth.
In some of the new gowns it will be
made of white chiffon or silk, cashmere
or satin. The wrist will be finished
by a tight five-inch cuff of massive
peasant embroidery, and the kimono
cap, or regulation peasant sleeve, will
be of brilliant color to match the gown
and bordered with the embroidery.
One gown of Balkan blue silk cash-
mere has a skirt slightly gathered at
hips and back, a five-inch band of em-
broidery at the hem, a ten-inch band
of black satin above this. The bodice
is cut in a wide, straight piece, with a
rounded opening at the neck, edged
with embroidery.
There is a wide-boned girdle of black
satin and a flat collar of it at the neck,
below the embroidery. Above the em-
broidery is a three-inch guimpe of
white silk cashmere, which is matched
by full sleeves that end at the wrist in
three-inch embroidery.
Revolutionary as this sleeve sounds
against those which we are wearing,
they will be in first fashion — either
they or their kind.
Another fashionable sleeve is rather
straight, fitted to the arm, flares over
the hand, and is covered at the top by
a folded kimono cap of the gown ma-
terial, edged with embroidery.
A sleeve that looks almost like an old-
fashioned bishop sleeve is returning for
summer gowns, but it can only be used
when there is a peasant sleeve of the
gown color over it. These drop nearly
/>
Effective combination oe ci,oth
and eoui,ard
to the elbow, and the full, sheer under-
sleeve reaches to the wrist, where it is
gathered into a half-inch band of lace
or colored embroidery and fastened
over with Irish crochet buttons.
New Long Sleeves
Has every woman noticed the in-
coming fashion of coat-of-mail sleeves
in evening gowns? There is no one
day on which one can put the finger
and say : This fashion began here. For
it slipped in on us unawares. It is ex-
cessively pretty, and, oh, such a relief
to the onlooker, after seasons of bared,
bony arms. The coat of mail contrib-
utes a curve of its own, and there is
THE EXTERNAL FEMININE
245
something about its suppleness that
suggests grace. It fills up the waste
places, and does not suggest early les-
sons in anatomy, as the uncovered
arm does when it needs cocoa butter
and massage. The mass of Americans
have notably bad arms in combination
with very good necks, and so this ad-
mirable new fashion of disclosing the
beauty of one and concealing the de-
fects of the other is a step forward in
the right direction. The only objection
to a long, tight sleeve for evening wear
is the short white gloves that have al-
ways been abruptly put against it ; but
the coat-of-mail sleeve does not allow
such a harsh and striking contrast. It
flares slightly after it leaves the wrist,
and reaches almost, if not quite, to the
knuckle. Beneath it is worn as soft a
glove as harmony allows — suede when-
ever possible.
These sleeves are definitely mediae-
val, but they did not arrive with the
first fashions that were revived from
that brutish and picturesque epoch in
the world's history. Even the best-
dressed women, backed by artistic de-
signers, have adopted the straight lines
of the one-piece thirteenth-century
frock with a twentieth-century decol-
letage and mere shoulder strap instead
of sleeves.
This was incorrect, and after women
became tired of mediaeval fashions in
this form they bethought themselves
of harking back to old plates and doing
the thing right. Therefore, the really
well-dressed ones have looked like
feminine Crusaders, lacking only the
scarlet cross on the breast. Not only
have they adopted the coat-of-mail
sleeves that nearly cover the hands,
but the decolletage of their gowns is
high at the back and sweeping round
in front. The sleeve comes from be-
neath the armhole of the bodice, and is
attached to the lining. The armhole of
the outer fabric is rather small and
edged with a color, or, better still, has
as a finish the fabric in a fold. The
material used for the sleeves is not a
novel one; we have had it with us all
season in its glittering mesh. It is of
gold, silver, aluminum, copper and
steel. Any one of these will do for the
new coat-of-mail sleeves.
There is a lining of net, but nothing
more opaque. The sleeve really fits
the arm and is a distinct addition to
the gown. The fashion of wearing
bracelets over it is thoroughly bad and
undesirable. It is not in keeping with
any part of the costume.
Chiffon for Every-Day Gowns
Chiffon is coming into its own again.
You may call it mousseline, chiffon
cloth or chiffon. It makes little differ-
ence by what name it goes so you get
the material. It will be widely worn
for all manner of frocks this spring,
and there is a strong movement afoot
to popularize it for gowns that are
more or less informal. It is less ex-
pensive than mousseline or chiffon
cloth and wears as well. If a woman
wants to make a really durable blouse
out of any of these weaves, she should
double the material. It looks and
wears twice as well. If she will put a
slightly full interlining of it, the out-
side lends itself more happily to treat-
ment. If one uses a soft, full lining of
messaline, peau de cynge or surah, this
doubling of the material is not so nec-
essary. All these thin blouses are go-
ing to be made quite full. There is
even a tendency to sag over the tight,
boned belt or the high belt of the skirt
Everywhere one sees a strong lean-
ing toward the old-fashioned laces,
such as Bruges, Honiton and Escurial.
The newer princess lace is also re-
vived. All these are used for the shal-
low, collarless yokes of these mousse-
line blouses. The woman who has an
economical turn of mind could easily
cover her soft silk or satin blouse with
a gathered or smocked drapery of
mousseline in the same tone, taking
off the collar of silk and either going
without one or substituting one of lace.
The covering is put over the sleeves
and gathered or smocked into the
wrist. If one wants color, one could
put a cross-stitch embroidery in har-
monizing tones of floss at the edges of
the mousseline, or trim the under
blouse with bands of vivid embroidery.
THE SHAKESPEARE MEMORIAL
PRIZE
It is interesting to learn that Jose-
phine Preston Peabody (Mrs. Lionel
Marks of Cambridge, Mass.) has been
awarded a prize of three hundred
pounds for a play submitted in a com-
petition arranged by the governors of
the Shakespeare Memorial Theatre at
Stratford-on-Avon, for a piece, "pref-
erably poetic and romantic," to be pre-
sented at the annual Shakespearian
festival in April and May.
The title of the winning play is "The
Piper," and it is based on the familiar
tale of "The Pied Piper of Hamelin."
The author, however, has eliminated
the familiar supernatural features -of
the old tale and given it increased in-
terest.
It is certainly pleasing that this sig-
nal honor should have come to one of
our own writers, and particularly to
one whose artistic standards are so true
to the higher ideals.
BOSTON NOT SO COLD
The proverbial coldness of Boston
audiences appears to have vanished be-
fore the successful presentations of
opera at the Boston Opera House, for
here is Manager Russell complaining,
in a letter to the Transcript, of the encore
habit. He says :
"Next season I contemplate asking
the public not only to refrain from de-
manding encores, but to refrain from
applauding at all until the curtain falls
at the end of the act. Unless the pub-
lic does co-operate in this matter the
result will be nearly the same, whether
the artist accepts the encore or not."
246
Being interpreted, this means that
Mr. Russell is seeking the highest
artistic effects such as can only be de-
rived from the unbroken unity of the
production.
Very well. We have proven our
warmth ; now let us carry our accom-
modation a step farther and co-operate
as Mr. Russell desires.
BETTER-FARMING SPECIAL
It has been arranged by the Boston
& Albany railroad to run a "Better-
Farming Special" on March 30 and
31 and April 1 and 2. During these four
days the train will traverse the state
over the Boston & Albany rails, and
the enterprise is under the auspices of
the Massachusetts Agricultural Col-
lege, the Massachusetts State Board
of Agriculture, the Massachusetts State
Forestry Department, and the plan has
the hearty approval, as well, of Mr.
Charles M. Gardner of Westfield, mas-
ter of the Massachusetts State Grange,
who will go in the train part of the
time.
Members of the faculty of the Agri-
cultural College, the secretary of the
Board of Agriculture, the state forester
and assistants, the general agent of the
State Dairy Bureau and others inter-
ested in the devolpment of agriculture
will give demonstrations and lectures
on the train on corn judging and im-
provement, potato growing, grass,
clover and alfalfa production, fertil-
izers, feeding and breeding of animals,
selection of dairy animals, production
and care of milk, testing milk, market-
ing of milk, New England meat pro-
duction, scoring and judging dairy ani-
IN NEW ENGLAND
247
mals, care and management of or-
chards, spraying, pruning, packing and
marketing fruit, forestry, extermina-
tion of insect pests and forest fire fight-
ing and protection.
The demonstrations and lectures will
take place simultaneously in five dif-
ferent cars, and in the open air at each
of the stations where the train stops,
and anyone interested in agricultural
development and allied subjects is in-
vited to attend. There will be an exhi-
bition of the forest fire-fighting appa-
ratus recommended by the state for-
ester; also spraying apparatus, pruning
tools, dairy utensils and other agricul-
tural implements.
An interesting feature of the "Better-
Farming Special" will be provided by
State Forester Rane, who has arranged
to have "live caterpillars of the gypsy
moth on exhibition on the train, so that
people who never have had a chance to
observe them alive may have the op-
portunity." He has also arranged for
an exhibition of living parasites. The
people of the state are familiar with
the program of exterminating the
gypsy moth by means of these para-
sites, but this will be the first opportu-
nity for many persons whose interest
in the work is very acute to see these
much-discussed parasites. The for-
estry exhibit will also include nursery
stock which is used in the work of re-
forestation, and the gypsy and brown-
tail moth in all its states will be ex-
hibited.
General Agent P. M. Harwood of the
State Dairy Bureau will make ad-
dresses on "The Care of Milk in the
Dairy and in the Home," and will ex-
hibit samples of butter, oleomargarine
and renovated butter, and will demon-
strate practical methods of telling one
from another.
The Boston & Albany Railroad will
furnish the train and all the equipment
necessary to make the enterprise a suc-
cess ; and, while it is manifestly impos-
sible in the four days allotted to stop
at all the places where interesting
meetings might be held, no portion of
the state on the Boston & Albany lines
has been neglected.
Miss Alice Bouteu<e, daughter oe Repre-
sentative and Mrs. BOUTEU.E
THE GLOUCESTER FISHERIES
That this important New England
industry is developing rapidly and
soundly at the present time is a source
of extreme gratification.
No food product that we have is
more wholesome. Its price puts within
the reach of the laboring population a
248
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
tasty as well as wholesome and
nourishing food.
The following table of figures has
been prepared by the same careful hand
that furnished the N^w England Mag-
azine with the statistics used in our
Gloucester article. They are new, de-
pendable and most instructive:
Barrels
Fresh Mackerel 3,348
Salt Mackerel 14,805
Fresh Herring 5,288
*Salt Herring 46,370
Frozen Herring x 7,635
Porgies 817
Halibut Fins 298
Whiting 500
Shad 749
Total 89,810
Cured Fish
Quintals
36,150
Barrels
4,365
IM50
20,537
36,737
26,450
358
4,000
1,653
in,55o
Quintals
30,440
Barrels
3,067
29,725
13,091
7i,56i
21,565
I
413
16,000
355
155,777
Quintals
17,900
RECAPITULATION
Pounds
Grand total at Gloucester 88,365,658
Total by Gloucester vessels at
other ports, direct (estimated) 36,359,800
Total at Gloucester and by
Gloucester vessels at other
ports . 124,725,458
Includes pickled herring.
Pounds
96,722,587
32,601,850
129,324,437
Pounds
109,879,859
39,100,000
143,979,859
TOTAL CATCHES, GLOUCESTER
January 1, 1909, to December 31, 1909
1909 1908 1907
Pounds Pounds Pounds
Salt Cod 33,116,200 23,115,705 15,712,700
Fresh Cod 12,300,200 13,130,700 16,167,400
Halibut .■ 2,368,582 2,816,050 3,081,765
Haddock 4,407,200 8,409,100 6,063,800
Hake 1,806,900 7,868,400 9,801,950
Cusk 1,363,800 3,405,800 4,805,300
Pollock 5,908,700 7,133,200 16,754,400
Flitches 800,882 880,542 826,210
Fresh Fish from Boats 300,000 600,000 750,000
Swordfish , " 6,184 n,954 8,250
Total Ground Fish 62,378,648 67,371,451 73,97 x ,775
Miscellaneous 1,743,800 1,285,200 744,176
Total fresh fish from Boston, 9,456,000 pound's.
IN NEW ENGLAND
249
PROGRESS IN PREVENTIVE
MEDICINE
In an address before the annual
meeting of the Association of Life In-
surance Presidents, Dr. M. J. Roseneau
of the Department of Preventive Medi-
cine and Hygiene of Harvard Medical
College said, in part :
"When the plain people understand
that many diseases are preventable,
they will begin to ask, 'Why are they
not prevented?' When they ask them-
selves this question, it means that they
have enrolled themselves in an organ-
ization that will prevent suffering and
save life. The strongest weapon we
have with which to equip our reserve
force is knowledge, and the most skil-
ful tactics will ever be education.
"When the people understand that
typhoid fever is as preventable as are
railroad accidents, we shall have a casus
belli and the courage needed for a vic-
torious campaign. The government
now protects us from cholera, leprosy,
yellow fever and other exotic plagues ;
why should it not also guard us against
the dangers that are present as well as
those that are but remotely imminent?
Present dangers, such as tuberculosis,
pneumonia, typhoid fever and infantile
diarrhoeas are infections which reap
A MODERN El<AKE YARD
the highest toll of death among us, and
are foemen worthy of our best efforts."
Putting it this way certainly makes
us all responsible and knowledge a
duty. What about simple courses in
preventive hygiene in our public
schools?
Mr. Edward Norton Treadwell, a
San Francisco artist who was burned
out and shaken out by the big earth-
quake, has left that land of too great
suddenness and came to take up his
abode in New England.
He worked about Magnolia and
Gloucester last summer and sold some
water colors at prices that have made
some of our veteran artists lift their
eyebrows.
During March Mr. Treadwell opened
an exhibition of his water colors in
Boston, in a private apartment in "The
Sheffield."
A visit to this exhibition leaves one
puzzling. Mr. Treadwell appears to
have done the last things first. His
250
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
Dutch scoops.
BI<ACK AND WHITE BY TrEADWEI,!,
water colors show a unity both of tone
and composition that is usually one of
the ultimate attainments of the su-
preme artist. They also display a very
decided intuition as to what to look for
and how to see it. On the other hand,
these same paintings, or sketches, seem
to us to display an insufficiency of
technique, an utter absence of finished
workmanship that would shame a
clever amateur.
It seems a question, if one is dealing
fairly with the public, to recognize these
productions as art. But as soon as
you arrive at that decision, you are
converted with an evidence of imagina-
tive vision and an ability to convey the
seeing of the same things to the be-
holder that is not the first step of art
but its ultimate achievement.
Mr.Treadwell's technical deficiencies
are not the easy haste of a master who
can afford to be slipshod in his rapidly-
sketched impressions, if only he shall
convey the vital truth. Nothing of the
kind. Mr. Treadwell does not know
how to handle paint properly. But he
both foregathers and conveys the im-
pression, none the less.
Mr. Treadwell is very fond of
black and white and exceedingly clever
with his pencil. He can sometimes
convey color values in black and white
in a most remarkable fashion. We
noted a sketch of a stretch of the sea
under a bright blue sky in which he
had penciled in the water in an almost
solid black ! But, somehow that black,
placed as it was, conveyed an impres-
sion of azure depths that was most
remarkable.
The old Dutch sloops, reproduced
here, is one of these pencil sketches.
It seems to us to possess a Turner-like
imaginativeness. It would seem that
mere sharpened graphite and drawing
board could go no further in depict-
ing the billowing massiveness and yet
lightness of clouds. The absolute
. boatiness of the sloops and the shim-
mer of the harbor water that is so dif-
ferent from that of the open sea is all
there — and just in black on white — not
even charcoal or crayon — but an ordi-
nary lead-pencil ! That could only be
done by a man absorbed in the seeing
of that which an artist should see.
Mr. Treadwell will make friends —
IN NEW ENGLAND
251
and excite opposition. There will be
those who will want that which he has
to g-ive and there will be those who will
find its technical deficiency insurmount-
able.
It is understood that his summer
work will be in the neighborhood of
Magnolia and Gloucester.
The eighteenth concert of the Boston
Symphony Orchestra, Max Fiedler con-
ducting, was given Saturday evening
in Symphony Hall.
The Brahms symphony in E minor,
number 4, opus 98, is the very brownest
of symphonies. It is the* great brain
of a great German bending the iron of
heavy and, at times, laborious thought.
Mr. Fiedler gave it a sort of from-meas-
ure-to-measure reading, which length-
ened out its patterns and laid bare its
intricate workmanship, thus making its
whole thought context more heavily
German than ever. And at times it is
heavy thought, even more than it is
deep thought. There is a herculean
rather than an olympian colossalness
about its achievement. There is a se-
rious abstractness emanating from its
whole, which is as divorced from any
suggestion of human experience as pos-
sible. It is Brahms, the great mind,
evolving abstract and austere conclu-
sions by means of the purest processes
of thought. Only in the finale is there
the least suggestion of himself; in this
it would seem that the very problem of
it all had enthused him with a real fer-
vor which impassions his last words in
this symphony.
Mr. Ferruccio Busoni, the renowned
pianist, was the soloist of the occasion.
Mr. Busoni had not been heard in Bos-
ton for six years past. The announce-
ment of his reappearance in Boston
called forth the greatest interest, — I
almost fear the anticipation was greater
than the realization. The anticipation
was colored with the report that a de-
cided gain emotionally was to be ex-
pected.
Mr. Busoni by nature is, for the
greater part, Italian. And the Busoni
of vSaturday evening is still the Italian
pianist. It is an interesting study to
note how and psychologically why the
temperamental and human pianists are
invariably Slavs or Teutons, and never
French, Italian or Spanish. These Lat-
ins have a finesse, a polish — a diplo-
macy, as it were — of pianism as well as
of manners. They raise all processes
of achievement to the — nth power. It
is the artlessness of art. There was the
same difference between the "Chansons
d'Amour" of the old Troubadours and
the impassioned "minnelied" of the Min-
nesingers. Even the instances which
you could point out as indicative of
Latin feeling can be sifted down to tem-
perament of the imagination, of poesy,
rather than a human outcry.
Mr. Busoni, by a part of his nature
and by recent environment, should
evidence things Teutonic, and to some
extent he does. He is not' a mere iri-
descent virtuoso. The worst thing one
can say about him is that his piano
playing is the quintessence of pianism.
It is a speech of absolute and unques-
tionable authority which he utters. It
is the great utterance of a recluse, as it
were, pianistically expressed. Creed is
no longer of consequence, but never-
theless there was an intense Romanism
about the performance — a mission per-
formed in the name of the Trinity, with
the chief accent on the name of the last
of its three elements. And this is not
Beethoven, for he is, of musical thought
and concept, the emancipating Luther.
Mr. Beethoven's concerto in E flat ma-
jor, number 5, is the consummation of
mighty thought and grandeur, — the ut-
terance of the truth of God in man ; of
nobility of thought that dares to ride
high above injustice and petty souls
and knows no shrinking. And rightly
did he name it the "Emperor." Mr.
Busoni's impersonation was of an em-
pirical concerto. It was power by
divine right of descent and the infalli-
bility of a cardinal chair. Few alive
could equal or vie with this empirical
252
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
impersonation, this greatness of pian-
ism, but it is an affair which the shade
of Mr. Beethoven would like to settle
with Mr. Busoni ; and if the shade hov-
ered very near to Symphony Hall on
Saturday evening, it probably was un-
satisfied if not distressed.
The problem becomes of somewhat
such a nature as this : If you were most
concerned with witnessing a twentieth-
century performance, with the piano as
medium, then there is no word for you
to speak. Mr. Busoni said the last
word. But if you went to feel the
blood of the flame-fired finger of him
who unchained music from her bond-
age and linked her to mightiest thought,
then you must still feel as though you
had been handed a rather pale photo-
graph of the same.
To sum up, Ferruccio Busoni is one
of the greatest living pianists ; but with
all his apparent and profound serious-
ness his power of concept is not equal
to the power of intent of the composer
of the "Emperor" concerto.
The Schubert "Overture to Rosa-
munde," opus 26, formed the remaining
number on the program, and was a
pleasantly buoyant and spontaneous
peacemaker, and the more of interest
because it had not been heard here
since the sixth of March, 1897, when
it occurred on a Boston Symphony Or-
chestra program.
The "Faust Symphony," including
the choral number, which has not been
given in Boston for some years, is to be
heard at a Symphony Orchestra con-
cert soon. The great ninth symphony
of Beethoven will again be presented
at the final concert. This is not only a
rare opportunity for the Boston musi-
cal public, but an achievement of which
the American musical world may well
be proud.
Mr. Fritz Kreisler, the noted and
masterly violinist, will appear with the
Symphony Orchestra on Friday after-
noon, April 8, and on Saturday even-
ing, April 9. Mr. Kreisler is by all odds
the greatest violinist who frequents the
American shore ; he. dignifies the violin
and the art of all music to a sublimity
unreached by most artists of to-day.
MANHATTAN GRAND OPERA
Boston will welcome the second com-
ing of Mr. Oscar Hammerstein's Man-
hattan Grand Opera Company, with its
unrivalled collection of stars. They
will begin a two weeks' engagement on
March twenty-eight at the Boston The-
ater, including: "Elektra," Monday,
March 28; "Lucia di Lammermoor,"
Tuesday, March 29; "Le Jongleur de
Notre Dame," Wednesday matinee,
March 30; "Griselidis," Wednesday,
March 30; "La Navarraise" and "The
Daughter of the Regiment," Thursday,
March 31 ; "Pelleas and Melisande,"
Friday, April 1 ; "La Traviata," Satur-
day matinee, April 2; "Thais," Satur-
day evening, April 2 ; "Faust," Monday,
April 4; "La Traviata," Tuesday, April
5; "Rigoletto," Wednesday, April 6;
"Louise," Thursday, April 7; "The
Tales of Hoffman," Friday, April 8;
"Elektra," Saturday matinee, April 9;
"Lucia di Lammermoor," Saturday
evening, April 9.
The Twentieth Century Club Com-
mittee for the study of the Amusement
Situation in Boston has made its re-
port. As in duty bound they found
need of a higher standard and are es-
pecially concerned about the moral
tone of much that classes as "drama."
However, they have no light as to pos-
sible betterment. of the situation.
They have compiled more or less
convincing figures to show that the
demand for theatrical entertainment
is tremendously on the increase, and
bring out very prominently the great
relative growth of the cheaper forms
of amusement, such as moving picture
shows and vaudeville. None of this is
news, but the report of the committee
brings it out very effectively.
In all such reviews of the current
dramatic world, there is a tendency to
forget that two very different kind of
things are collected under the general
IN NEW ENGLAND
253
title of dramatic entertainment —
drama as a serious art, and popular
amusement. Serious drama may be
anything but amusing, and the craving
for amusement is natural and universal.
A feature of this winter's dramatic
laborious conditions of stock com-
pany work and with the limited ex-
pense account of a low-priced theatre.
The plays have been well chosen and
well presented and have met with a
well-earned patronage.
"Biwjb" Burke, who appears at the Hou,is Street Theatre in Aprii,
life in Boston has been the excellent
work done by the John Craig Stock
Company at the Castle Square Theatre.
This company has furnished uniformly
excellent, low-priced drama under the
APRIL ATTRACTIONS
Beginning Monday, March 28th,
Billie Burke will appear at the Hollis
Street Theatre in a three-act comedy
entitled, "Mrs. Dot." This is a new
254
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
play by W. Sameoset Maugham, author
of "Jack Straw" and "Lady Frederick."
The play comes from a very successful
performance at the Lyceum Theatre in
New York. Nothing need be said of
Billie Burke, who is a prime favorite in
Boston, as is also Fritzi Scheff, who
will follow the Billie Burke engage-
ment.
Fritzi Scheff will appear in the light
opera success, "The Prince Duma," by
Henry Blossom and Victor Herbert.
The engagement will begin April nth.
This is certain to be an entertainment
for which those who wish to see it
must plan well ahead, as Fritzi Scheff
is one of the most deserving and well-
liked stars on the light opera stage.
At the Colonial Theatre the "Harvest
Moon," which we have already noticed,
will occupy the first week of April and
it will be followed by "The Third De-
gree," an old play, but a very popular
one.
At the Park Theatre "The Man
from Home" will still hold the boards.
This is one of the most successful
plays that have been put on any stage
in the city for a long time. It is a
play to which people go more than
once, and that is saying a good deal
for any play nowadays, with the multi-
plicity of available attractions.
Raymond Hitchcock in "The Man
Who Owns Broadway" has been play-
ing at the Tremont since March 7th,
and it will continue' well into and
through April. It is a humorous hit
that keeps the audience laughing and
is one of George M. Cohan's most pro-
nounced successes. Raymond Hitch-
cock is a very clever stage humorist
and does his part to keep up the yerve
the snap of the piece.
-With ttie-
NEW ENGLAND
BOARDS 2! TRADE
BOSTON— 1915
Boston-1915 has announced an in-
teresting and novel plan for awakening
in Bostonians their highest efficiency
as useful citizens. It is to award each
year medals commemorating specially
notable achievements that make for the
city's progress.
The city progress medals, as they are
called, are not to be given as rewards
of merit. Emphasis is laid on the fact
that their purpose is to "commemorate
the deed and not the doer." In other
words, they are intended to be a means
of educating the average citizen to a
right understanding of service to the
city; to make it clear to him that fre-
quently what he might have thought
commonplace is actually a great ser-
vice, and to inspire him to contribute
his ideas for the city's benefit, because
they may be really helpful, and not be-
cause they ma}^ bring a bronze token
that will please his vanity.
The first award will be made March
30 of this year, which is the first anni-
versary of the inception of the Boston-
1915 movement. There will be two sets
of medals — one for service to any of
the "districts" into which the local citi-
zens' associations divide Boston, and
the other for service to the city as a
whole. The district medals will be
awarded on the judgment of the citi-
zens' association in each locality. The
city medals will be awarded by a board
IN NEW ENGLAND
255
r [of judges composed of men and women
^representing the different departments
|of the city's life — public officials (Mayor
Fitzgerald is one who has accepted ser-
vice on the board), lawyers, doctors
and clergymen, business men, leaders
n the interests of women, and so on.
There are no restrictions upon the
number of medals or upon the charac-
ter of service for which they are to be
Jgiven. After 1910 each year's award
will be confined to service rendered
the community during the preceding
twelve-month period. But this year
the judges will consider anything done
within the past three or four years, if
that seems desirable, in order that the
award may be as illustrative as possible
in gettinginthe public mind the clearest
understanding of the plan, and the most
concrete idea of what may constitute
civic service.
THE PILGRIM PUBLICITY
"CREDO"
I believe in New England. In the
Jlpre-eminence of her location as the
gateway to Europe. In the beauty and
healthfulness of her hills and lakes.
In the undeveloped, unlimited power
Df her rivers, and the ocean commerce
3f her seaports. In the variety and
Ljhiarvelous efficiency of her industries.
1 In the skill and inventive genius of
ler workmen, the public spirit of her
business men, and the resulting pros-
perity of her people.
I believe in New England's mission.
1 fn the glory of her past and the great-
e : ciess of her future, and I believe that the
same spirit of the Boston Tea Party,
of Lexington, and the Civil War — the
spirit that lavishly gave its blood,
brawn, brains and money to the up-
jbuilding of the country — still lives in
■New England's sons and daughters and
■waits only the word to call all New
■England to the still greater things
['which are before us.
I believe in the tremendous, trans-
Iforming power of optimism; I believe
[that it is lack of faith which checks
the development of individuals, asso-
ciations, and sections. That skepticism
is the only thing which stands between
New England and her great destiny.
And that when pessimism is trans-
formed to optimism, New England will
again take her rightful place in the
vanguard of industrial progress.
Therefore I am resolved that 1 will
avoid and help others to escape from
the deadening, demoralizing rut of
criticism, skepticism and inertia. That
I will be a booster, not a knocker.
And that I will neglect no opportunity
to show my faith in the future of New
England and to labor unceasingly for
its fulfilment. (Copyright, 1910, by
Pilgrim Publicity Association, Boston,
Mass.)
BURLINGTON, VT.
Editor New England Magazine
Many years ago the Central Vermont
Railway built a handsome railway sta-
tion here, well suited to the business
done on their branch leading to our
city. Since then their business has
greatly increased and outgrown its ac-
commodations. Besides, the Rutland
road uses, with the Central Vermont,
the same station. It is located about
a quarter of a mile from the passenger
dock of the Champlain Transportation
Company, which does a large and in-
creasing summer-tourist business. Its
passengers are obliged to walk or ride
this quarter of a mile to reach the
trains. A committee of our Commercial
Club has had several meetings with a
committee of the Central Vermont, and
the probability is that we shall soon
have a thoroughly modern station at
the foot of Main street, an ornament
to our city and a great convenience to
our citizens and their visitors.
The second concert of our Symphony
Orchestra, under the direction of Pro-
fessor Larsen, was even more satisfac-
tory than the first.
Professor Wilder has got together a
remarkable company of young musi-
cians called the ''Clef Club." It is made
up of children and young people rang-
ing from the ages of six to sixteen, and
their performance of difficult and really
classical selections was the admiration
of the great crowd who heard them at
a recent concert. If they continue as
256
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
they have begun, the Symphony Or-
chestra will have to look to its laurels.
The Central Vermont has lately
granted a generous reduction of rates
on rough granite, which may have a
favorable effect on the finishing of
granite in Burlington.
We now have a superb snow land-
scape, rivalling the lovely specimens
you often give in your beautiful pages.
Yours truly,
JOSEPH DANA BARTLEY.
GLOUCESTER, MASS., AND ITS
BOARD OF TRADE
The Board of Trade was organized
in 1866 and reorganized in 1890. It has
ever kept a watchful eye over all the
interests of the city.
Gloucester is unique in having for its
principal industry (the fisheries) one
which is co-operative, and in being the
largest port in the country engaged in
the business. So it is natural that most
of the work of the Board of Trade
should have been in that direction.
This organization has done all that
could be done to further the fishing in-
terests, and has established a closer in-
timacy among all the men engaged in
the fisheries. Conferences concerning
some branch of the business are held
at the rooms nearly every day, thereby
enabling the dealers to keep in touch
with changing conditions, and to secure
a more adequate return on capital in-
vested and for the energy which they
put into the business.
New vessels are being built, not with
a rush, but the fleet is gradually being
increased with that conservatism which
indicates wise business management.
Second in importance is the work
done by this organization for the ben-
efit of the summer business. The Board
of Trade extends to the many summer
visitors who come to Gloucester in in-
creasing numbers each year the cour-
tesies of the commodious and con-
venient rooms, with every facility
for transacting business, including pub-
lic stenographer, local and long-dis-
tance telephones, which are very much
appreciated and freely used.
The Board of Trade has an energetic
publicity committee, which has recently
issued an illustrated publication show-
ing the business advantages of the city,
copies of which may be obtained by ad-
dressing the secretary. Illustrated en-
velopes to the number of one million
three hundred thousand have been and
are being used by the citizens to carry
the fame and picturesqueness of the
place to all parts of the world.
A system of advertising designed to
convince every family of the economy
in the use of salted fish, with directions
for preparing, has been inaugurated,
and methods for continuing the cam-
paign are now being considered.
The Board of Trade, as an organiza-
tion, has not in the past taken a very
active part in municipal affairs, but
lately has evinced a great interest, and
undoubtedly more of an influence will
be exerted in that direction in the fu-
ture than in the past.
For many years an expert statistician
has been employed, and the Gloucester
Board of Trade has full and complete
records and statistics covering its prin-
cipal industry, the fisheries.
The organization has an arbitration
committee composed of able men, but
their services have been called into
requisition only once in forty years,
showing the good feeling existing be-
tween our business men.
The membership consists of one hun-
dred and ninety and is constantly grow-
ing. It embraces representative busi-
ness men, retired merchants and pro-
fessional men. Meetings are held fre-
quently, at which addresses are deliv-
ered on interesting topics. The next
will be on the matter of "Savings-Bank
Life Insurance," by Mr. Harry Wj]
Kimball, the field secretary of the
Massachusetts Savings-Bank Insurance
League.
In order to increase the scope of the
work and add to its efficiency the Board
of Trade is now considering the matter
of the employment of a permanent sec-
retary, who shall devote all of his time
to the interests of the organization.
Yours very truly,
EDWARD K. BURNHAM,
Secretary.
m
JlllllllllllllllllllllltltflllillllllllllilllllliliM
ewEncrlana
'The Birches", I^ake Maranacook, Maine
Trail to Campers' Point
Cl<OUD REJECTIONS
Photograph by Notman
Hon. Samuel L. Powers
New England Magazine
Vol. XLII. MAY, 19 io Number 3
The Taft Administration
By HON. SAMUEL L. POWERS
IT is very difficult to understand
the currents of public sentiment
in this country. They flow stead-
ily in one direction for a time, and then
suddenly, without apparent cause, their
courses change and they flow in an op-
posite or divergent direction, with even
greater force than before. In these
changing movements they are not un-
like the currents of air, ever changing
in direction and force with the varying
changes of atmospheric conditions.
Just at present, driven by these cur-
rents of sentiment, we appear to be
driven into an area of pessimism and
doubt. That irrepressible optimism
which has always been a dominant trait
in the American character, and a tre-
mendous force in the development of
our commercial and industrial great-
ness, is for the time being checked. We
appear to be losing faith in each other
and confidence in ourselves. I am not,
however, prepared to believe that the
present tendency toward pessimism is
likely to continue for any great length
of time. It is absolutely foreign to our
nature, and its existence can only be
accounted for by the concerted influ-
ence upon the public mind of a large
number of magazine and newspaper
writers. These publications are at-
tempting to persuade the American
people that the times are "out of joint" ;
that our public servants are either in-
capable or dishonest; that our judges
are mere puppets controlled by politi-
cal or commercial influence in the dis-
charge of their judicial duties; that the
large combinations of capital are all
wilful and insistent violators of the
law; that the time has already come
when it is no longer safe to rely upon
business honor and individual honesty,
but that every one must be on his guard
to detect fraud and deceit in those with
whom he deals, even though they be his
friends and neighbors. This sentiment
of distrust is being fanned into a grow-
ing flame by the literary highwayman
in his contributions to what is known
as the "popular" magazine. The pub-
lisher tells us that there is a strong pub-
lic demand for contributions of this
character, and hence his justification
for giving the people the food they
crave. He tells us that the reading pub-
lic of this country no longer demand
plain and wholesome literary food, but
that the literary palate now insists
upon something that is highly sea-
soned, and the larger amount of tabasco
sauce the better. The accurate .and
painstaking student of political econ-
omy, who has devoted many years of
careful study to the subject, and who
may have won his present position as
the head of a great department of eco-
nomics in one of our large universities
or colleges, is no longer the popular
contributor to our magazines engaged
in instructing our people concerningthe
265
266
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
cause of the increase of the cost of liv-
ing. The author who won literary
fame last year when he gave to the
world a lurid work of fiction, and who
never in his life gave any careful study
to the subject of political economy, is
this year the popular contributor to the
world's knowledge of the underlying
causes of the variation in the prices of
articles of commerce. Without the
slightest hesitation, and with a vehe-
mence which permits of no discussion,
he tells us that the increase or decrease
in the annual production of gold does
not and never did have any effect what-
ever upon the price at which foodstuffs
and other articles of commerce are
bought and sold. He contemptuously
brushes aside the expressed views of
Chevalier, Carnes, Erich and other
great students of the question. What
cares he for the opinion of these old
fogies ! What cares he for the law of
supply and demand ! Why should he
waste his valuable time in discussing
the laws of economics which have been
accepted by the civilized world for
three centuries at least ! How much bet-
ter to tell his readers, as did a* writer
in a well-known magazine issued in
April of the present year, that whatever
the production, "the cost of living
would still be high if the same gang of
thieves were permitted to stand be-
tween the producers and consumers" ;
and again, "If the government were to
permit the cost of living continually to
be increased, the government ought to
be destroyed." This writer was dis-
cussing the high cost of living. We all
know it is an old question and has been
under discussion by great students for
centuries. It has generally been re-
garded as a rather intricate and dry
subject for consideration, but you will
observe how entrancing it becomes
when it is properly treated by the
writer of fiction. This is the conclusion
which he finally reaches : The only
cause of high cost of living, a gang of
thieves; remedy, government destroy
the thieves. Failing to do this, then de-
stroy the government. Unfortunately,
this modern economist does not tell us
what the cost of living is likely to be
after the government has been de-
stroyed, except by inference, and that
is that when our government has dis-
appeared from the face of the earth the
cost of living will probably be reason-
able.
During, the past few months there
has been more or less criticism of the
administration of Mr. Taft. This criti-
cism has come largely through the col-
umns of the popular magazine, so
called, and the articles have been writ-
ten in many cases by the same class of
men Avho are engaged in the discussion
of the economic questions of the day.
It may be worth while to examine
somewhat critically the more impor-
tant criticisms of Mr. Taft's adminis-
tration. We must bear in mind that
this administration has been in exist-
ence for only a little over a year; that
during that period there has been one
special or extraordinary session of Con-
gress — for the consideration of the
tariff question — and that a session is
now in progress having under consid-
eration many important recommenda-
tions from the President. Within so
short a period of time it could hardly
be expected that the President could
formulate and put into execution his
larger policies depending upon new leg-
islation. He must, however, be held
responsible for his approval of the
Payne tariff bill, and for his attitude
toward it while it was under consid-
eration by the Congress. He must also
be held responsible for having recom-
mended a revision of the tariff which
resulted in the passage of the new tariff
law. The Republican party, when it
nominated Mr. Taft as its candidate for
the presidency, adopted as one of the
planks of its platform its purpose to
bring about a revision of the tariff. Mr.
Taft believed that he was politically
and morally bound to do his utmost to
keep that pledge to the American peo-
ple, and with that in view he called the
special session of Congress directly
after his inauguration, and recom-
mended a revision of the existing tariff
laws. While the subject was under con-
sideration by the two branches of Con-
gress he did everything he properly
THE TAFT ADMINISTRATION
207
could to persuade Congress to revise
the tariff downward. Everybody knows
that the bill which Congress finally pre-
sented to the President for his approval
was not satisfactory to him. It was,
however, satisfactory to a majority of
the two branches of Congress, and the
members of the House at least are sup-
posed to represent public sentiment.
Now, when that bill had passed Con-
gress and was presented to the Presi-
dent, there were two courses open to
him, — either to sign the bill or veto it.
Had he vetoed the bill, the agitation
for tariff reform would have continued,
with all its depressing effect upon the
industries of the country. The Presi-
dent reached the conclusion that it was
better for the welfare of the country
that he should sign thebill,even though
not entirely satisfactory to him, and
that through the creation of a tariff
board which he had recommended there
should be an earnest effort made to se-
cure such additional and reliable infor-
mation as would make it possible in the
near future to revise the law along
more scientific lines and upon a more
reasonable basis. Suppose, now, that
the President, instead of signing the
bill, had vetoed it. In other words,
suppose he had set up his judgment
against the judgment of the Congress
which had passed the bill. Two results
were absolutely sure to have followed.
In the first place, he would have antag-
onized Congress, and in the second
place he would greatly have hindered
the return of industrial prosperity. In
the very beginning of his administra-
tion he would have put himself in a
controversy with Congress, with little
hope of securing the passage of such
other legislation as he believed the
country demanded. While the subject
of revision of the tariff was under con-
sideration it could not be expected that
business would return to its normal
condition. So much for the President's
relation to the new tariff act.
A number of writers in magazines
which have recently appeared tell us
that the people have lost faith in Mr.
Taft because of his association with the
"bosses" of the Republican party, and
they point to the fact that he is appar-
ently on good terms with Senator Aid-
rich, Senator Root, Secretary Knox and
Speaker Cannon. Well, why shouldn't
he be on good terms with them? Does
any one claim that he is on better terms
■with them than was Mr. Roosevelt?
Were not all these distinguished gen-
tlemen connected with the Roosevelt
administration? Were any of them
ever denounced by Mr. Roosevelt dur-
ing his administration as unsafe men to
meet? At no time did Mr. Roosevelt
ever publicly state that, any of these
gentlemen were lacking in loyalty or
devotion to any of the policies which
he believed in. It is true that Mr. Taft
selected Mr. Knox as his Secretary of
State, but Mr. Knox had been Attor-
ney-General under the administration
of President Roosevelt. He was known
to be a very close and intimate friend
of the. ex-President. He had entered
the Senate after his retirement from the
Roosevelt cabinet with the full ap-
proval of his former chief. While upon
the floor of the Senate it was known
that he represented the progressive
ideas of Mr. Roosevelt. Mr. Root filled
two important cabinet positions during
the Roosevelt administration, — first,
that of Secretary of War and then Sec-
retary of State, and it is publicly known
that Mr. Roosevelt was desirous that
he should come to the Senate repre-
senting the Empire State. As for Mr.
Aldrich, he has for years been regarded
as the leader of the Senate in connec-
tion with matters of tariff and finance.
So far as it appears, he was on excel-
lent terms with Mr. Roosevelt during
his incumbency of the White House;
nor has anythingever appeared to show
that there was any serious difference
between Mr. Roosevelt and Speaker
Cannon. A recent magazine writer
speaks of Mr. Taft coming to Wash-
ington at the time of his inauguration,
and says : "The Aldriches, the Can-
nons, the Roots, the Knoxes and every
other tongue-lolling, wide-jawed wolf
of Money were there to flatter him.
They wooed and they won him." If
they have wooed and won Mr. Taft,
they certainly wooed and won Mr.
26S
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
Roosevelt, because their relations with
the former were quite as intimate as
they have been with the latter. The
President has never had anytariff views
in common with Mr. Aldrich. He has
never been on terms of what may be
called personal intimacy with Speaker.
Cannon. However, he is criticised by
the radical weeklies and monthlies be-
cause he appears to be on speaking
terms with these distinguished states-
men.
Suppose the President were to fol-
low the advice of these magazine
writers, and become an insurgent, and
enter fiercely into a contest with the
leading statesmen of his own party who
to-day are largely in control of the leg-
islation of Congress. Such a course,
no doubt, would please some people,
but it could result in no good, and on
the other hand it would be sure to re-
sult in much harm. It would disorgan-
ize the Republican party; it would pre-
vent the passage of many laws which
ought to be enacted, and which have
been recommended by the Presidenty
and it would prepare the way for the
return of the Democratic party to
power in both the executive and legis-
lative departments of our government.
There appears to be a disposition
upon the part of some of these maga-
zine writers to hold the President and
his party solely responsible for the
present high cost of living. So far as
prices are excessive by reason of failure
to enforce existing law, or to enact
necessary legislation to prevent the
charging of exorbitant prices, thus far
is the administration to be held re-
sponsible for the situation. If, how-
ever, the present high cost of living is
traceable to other than political causes,
then, of course, the administration
should not be held responsible for the
situation. It is true that we are passing
through an era of high prices, and so
far as they affect the necessaries of
life they create great unrest and dis-
satisfaction among the people. It is
not difficult to determine the present
causes of the increase in the cost of liv-
ing. It is not limited to this country,
but extends throughout the entire civ-
ilized world. The increase is undoubt-
edly due to several causes, one of the
more important causes being the tre-
mendous increase in the world's pro-
duction of gold. In the year 1896 the
amount of gold coin in the United
States was $8.40 per inhabitant; in 1908
it had increased to $18.46 per inhab-
itant, or nearly 120 per cent., or an in-
crease of 10 per cent, annually. This
steady increase in amount of gold has
brought about a corresponding de-
crease in the purchasing power of
money, and a corresponding increase in
the cost of living. Another important
cause is the excessive growth of our
urban population, and extends to the
abnormal increase of our manufactur-
ing industries, which have within a dec-
ade made this country the foremost
manufacturing nation of the world.
These manufacturingindustrieshave of-
fered inducements in the way of higher
wages, which have resulted in the
growth of the population in the large
cities and towns, and this has been en-
couraged at the expense of our agricul-
tural industries, and a natural result
has been that our agricultural indus-
tries have relatively fallen off per in-
habitant within the last twenty years.
This of itself would account for the in-
creased cost of grain and livestock,
which, after all, form the principal food
products for our population. Free pas-
turage on the public lands of the na-
tion, while it continued, enabled our
people to raise livestock at a reasonable
expense, and to export vast quantities
of animal food products to Europe at a
profit in competition with other sources
of supply from abroad. The settle-
ment of the Western prairie lands, to-
gether with the policy of allowing free
pasture to the so-called "Beef Bar-
ons," has resulted in the reduction of
herds, and, without question, has in-
creased cost of beef for food. In other
words, the law of supply and demand
has proved most unkind in its effect
upon the cost of living.
•It is, of course, easy to charge the
President with failure to enforce law
against the "middlemen," so called, and
say that failure to enforce the law is
THE TAFT ADMINISTRATION
269
the cause of the present high price of
food. There certainly is no evidence of
any failure on the part of the adminis-
tration to properly enforce the trust
laws against the packers, and there is
ample evidence of proof that the pres-
ent high cost of living is due to causes
over which the administration has no
control whatever.
It is certainly gratifying to see that
no one undertakes to charge the Presi-
dent with failure to enforce the laws
for the regulation of trusts and monop-
olies. He may be doing it quietly, but
he certainly is doing it effectively. A
well-known metropolitan daily, in re-
ferring to the President's enforcement
of the law, says : "He has whipped up
the anti-trust law to speed never before
exhibited."
The legislative programme which the
President has submitted to Congress is
in every way ample. It includes all the
measures to which the Republican party
was pledged. There has been no sug-
gestion, so far as I know, that he has
failed to recommend any important leg-
islation demanded by the people. What
is most gratifying is that this legisla-
tive programme as recommended by
the President is likely to be largely en-
acted into law at the present session
of Congress, and this leads us to the
consideration of one other phase of
the criticism which is being heaped
upon the President, and that is that he
is not a great political leader. It is
somewhat difficult to determine what
is the exact test of great leadership in
political affairs. It is, however, gen-
erally conceded that a man is a great
leader who is able to accomplish the
purposes he has in view. Clay, Doug-
las, Stevens, Blaine and Garfield are
regarded as our great parliamentary
leaders, but they earned that reputa-
tion by reason of being able to persuade
men to follow them and do things which
they recommended. If that be the test
of political leadership, then surely Mr.
Taft must be regarded a great political
leader if he has the capacity to per-
suade the two branches of Congress to
adopt his theories of legislation and
enact them into law. Any President
who involves himself in controversy
with the lawmaking branch of our gov-
ernment to the extent of defeating the
very purposes he has in view cannot be
regarded a great political leader. Un-
doubtedly, there are those among our
people who would like to see a violent
controversy in progress between the
President and the leaders of both the
Senate and the House. The more vio-
lent the controversy, the better it would
please them. If they seek leadership
of that character, they will not find it
in Mr. Taft. He is a great administra-
tive officer. He understands men and
the motives which control them. He
never appeals to passions and preju-
dices, but to sound, common sense. He
is honest and he demands honesty in
others. He is patriotic and unselfish, and
he is sufficiently optimistic to expect to
find those essential qualities in others.
He does not and he will not seek to
control the expression of public sen-
timent in the American newspapers and
magazines. If they criticise him un-
fairly or unjustly, he will submit to the
criticism, and he can afford to do so, so
long as he is conscious that he is doing
his duty in the best manner for the
welfare of the American people. He
will remain content to rely upon the
common sense and fair play of his fel-
low-countrymen, and he can safely
do so.
There is no people in the world more
fair-minded or more generous-hearted
than ours. We may be for the time
being be led astray by these lurid
writers of political fiction ; we may for
the moment accept assertion for argu-
ment, and we may say unjust and un-
kind things concerning our public offi-
cials, but sooner or later our better
judgment asserts itself and we are once
more true American citizens, loyal to
our government and devoted to our
leaders and supremely hopeful of the
future of the republic.
Photograph by Byrd Studio
Josephine Preston Peabody (Mrs. Lionel Marks)
Josephine Preston Peabody
America's Dramatic Poet
By MARY STOYELL STIMPSON
A
CAMBRIDGE woman has won
a signal honor. Through her
achievement she has conferred
a lasting source of pride upon her city,
her state and her country. . It was on
March n that a dispatch from London
to New York bore these lines :
"Josephine Preston Peabody, who is
Mrs. Lionel Marks of Cambridge,
Mass., is the winner of the prize of
$1500 offered by one of the governors
of the Shakespeare Memorial Theater
at Stratford-on-Avon for the best play
submitted for performance at the the-
ater. Three hundred and fifteen plays
were sent to the reading committee,
who selected two which were submit-
ted to the Duke of Argyll, whose de-
cision is in favor of Miss Peabody's
play, entitled 'The Piper.' It deals
with the old story of the Tied Piper
of Hamelin.' The play is to be acted on
May 5, when, according to the condi-
tions of the contest, the prize is to be
presented to the successful playwright
on the stage of the Memorial Theater."
It was stated in the conditions that
the competition was open to the world,
and that preferably the play should be
a poetic and romantic piece. Miss Pea-
body had known nothing of this prize
I competition until she received from a
friend a newspaper clipping which
made some brief mention of it, shortly
after the publication of "The Piper," in
the autumn of 1909. She immediately
forwarded a copy of the play to the
governors of the Memorial Theater,
which has now received such a notable
stamp of approval. In the six months
which elapsed between the submitting
of the play and the reception of the
prize-awarding telegram there was
many a chance for hope and fear to al-
ternate in the author's heart. Six
months of absolute silence would have
been sufficiently trying, but to Miss
Peabody there came at intervals cer-
tain communications which served but
to make the waiting period unusually
wearing. The first of these brought
the intelligence that all but thirty of
the three hundred and fifteenplays sub-
mitted had been thrown aside; that her
work was among those which would
merit further consideration. A little
later she received word that she was
among the list of possible winners,
which had then narrowed to seven.
This letter was accompanied with the
request for several copies of her play,
"since she was the only one of that
seven who lived at so great a distance
that, should she prove the victor, there
would scarcely be time to secure
enough copies to distribute among the
actors for the May production." More
hope — but also more delay. One day
there came the announcement from the
secretary of the Shakespeare Memorial
Association that only Miss Peabody
and one other remained as rival com-
petitors. At this time the Cambridge
poet was seriously ill at the hospital, so
there was perhaps less thought of dra-
matic matters across the water. But
it was an added happiness to her con-
valescence when news arrived in this
country that her play had received its
final approval from the Duke of Argyll.
Miss Peabody was born in New York
State, but the family removed to Mas-
sachusetts when she was very young,
so that she attended the public schools
271
272
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
of Boston, the Girl's Latin School, took
special courses at Radcliffe, becoming
later a valued instructor and lecturer
at Wellesley College. All her life she
has been a devoted student of poetry
and drama, and from her earliest years
has shown great poetic talent. She was
but fourteen when her first poem was
accepted by a New York editor, while
her first contribution to the Atlantic
Magazine so impressed Horace Scud-
der, then its editor, that he requested
the writer to call upon him at his office.
When she presented herself he could
hardly believe that the childlike per-
sonage before him was the author of
such musical, finished verse.
When a special student at Radcliffe,
Miss Peabody gave most of her time
to the study of Greek, Italian and the
Elizabethan drama. In 1897 she pub-
lished her first book, "Old Greek Folk-
Stories : Told Anew." The following
year appeared her first volume of
poems, "The Wayfarers." In 1900,
when "Fortune and Men's Eyes" came
from the press, critics united in placing
Miss Peabody in the forefront of living
poets. This success was closely fol-
lowed by one even greater, "Marlowe,"
a five-act drama, which was given
three performances by Harvard Uni-
versity in 1906, and hailed by Richard
Henry Stoddard as "not a book of the
week, or of the year, but a lasting con-
tribution to the glory of American let-
ters."
Thus, while still in her twenties, was
Miss Peabody commanding the atten-
tion, the admiration and the enthusi-
asm of the literati. Ripe scholars were
encouraging her; men like Stedman,
Gosse and Dobson were exulting in her
talent, and her style was already rec-
ognized as possessing distinction and
exquisite clarity.
"The Singing Leaves : a Book of
Songs and Spells," has had more popu-
lar vogue than any of her other books
(save, perhaps, the "Marlowe" play,
which is, of course, not so quotable in
fragments). It was a deep pleasure to
the author to learn that not long ago
some of these songs had been trans-
lated and published in Japan by a na-
tive admirer. Our American com-
posers have been swift to see how read-
ily a number of them have lent them-
selves to musical setting.
"The Book of the Little Past" is a
recent publication, charmingly illus-
trated by Elizabeth Shippen Green, and
shows how comprehendingly Miss Pea-
body can enter into the thought-world
of the child.
But it is this wonderful new drama,
"The Piper," with its happy combina-
tion of lyrical and dramatic strength,
its fine pathos and humor, which will
make her name live and will cause it to
be linked with such poetic dramatists
as Rostand, D'Annunzio, Ibsen and
Maeterlinck.
In June, 1906, Miss Peabody was
married to Lionel Marks, professor of
engineering at Harvard University.
They went abroad for a year's travel,
and while in London had the pleasure
of attending the British-Canadian fes-
tival concert, when Mrs. Marks' choric
idyl, "Pan," set to music for voices,
chorus and orchestra by Harris, was
given before King Edward.
Professor Marks., is in close sympa-
thy with his wife's work, which she
has continued with unabated zeal since
her marriage. From their pleasant
home at 88 Lakeview avenue, Cam-
bridge, she sailed early in April for
England, in order to witness the re-
hearsals of her play. Professor Marks'
duties at the university prevented him
from crossing with Mrs. Marks and their
two children, but he will join them in
June. He was born in Birmingham,
England, and his people live in War-
wickshire, not many miles from Strat-
ford.
While Mrs. Marks is an industrious
author and student, she is by no means
a recluse, and possesses many social
charms. She has a delicate, flower-
like beauty, a quaint, half-serious man-
ner, and converses exceptionally well.
The annual Shakespeare festival will
be on a more elaborate scale this year
than usual, and will continue a full
week longer than heretofore. All the
dramatic arrangements are entrusted
to F. R. Benson, who has had charge
JOSEPHINE PRESTON PEABODY
273
of these festivals for more than twenty
years. Especial care is being taken
that "The Piper" shall have the best
possible production. Miss Marian
Terry takes a leading part, the inciden-
tal music has had careful attention,
while the first scenic artists of the
kingdom have been at work upon the
scenery ever since the prize was
awarded.
For the benefit of a local charity a
reading of "The Piper" was given at
the Longfellow House one afternoon in
April. Without the aid of actors or
woods and open sky; and she makes
the Piper bring the children back in
the end, because of the supreme mother-
love of one woman."
The play opens in the marketplace of
Hamelin — time 1284 Anno Domini. A
party of strolling players are just con-
cluding their show, "A Noah's ark mira-
cle play of the rudest." The priest, An-
selm, is preaching to the gathered citi-
zens ; the burgomaster is haggling with
the Piper, who now claims his prom-
ised reward for ridding the town of its
pest. There is a charm in every word
Shakespeare; memorial theatre at Strateord
stage settings the characters stood out
most clearly from the power of the
lines alone. The story is that of the
"Pied Piper of Hamelin," with the su-
pernatural element well-nigh banished.
"Miss Peabody tells us that the 'hollow
hill' was no more than the cellarage of
a ruined monastery, the shelter of a
band of gypsies, and the Piper but a
gypsy man, with more than usual of
the understanding of the child-heart
and the psychology of suggestion, a
dreamer with a passionate desire to
teach man the care-free life of the
which describes to the reader the per-
sons in the square. Barbara, daughter
of Jacobus, the oily burgomaster;
young Michael, the sword-swallower;
Jan, the little, lame son of Veronika,
gaze at the central figure, the Piper,
who opens a conversation with the
question:
Is this your boy?
Veronika — Ay, he is mine; my only
one. He loved thy piping so.
Piper — And I loved his.
Han's wife (stridently) — Poor little
boy! He's lame!
274
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
Piper — 'T is all of us are lame ! But
he, he flies.
Veronika — Jan, stay here if you will,
and hear the pipe, at churchtime.
Piper (to him)— Wilt thou?
Jan (softly) — Mother lets me stay
here with the Lonely Man.
Piper — The Lonely Man?
(Jan points to the Christ in the
shrine. Veronika crosses herself. The
Piper looks long at the little boy.)
Veronika — He always calls him so.
Piper — And so would I.
Veronika — It grieves him that the
head is always bowed, and stricken.
But he loves more to be here than yon-
der in the church.
Piper — And so do I.
Veronika — What would you, darling,
with the Lonely Man? What do you
wait to see?
Jan (shyly) — To see Him smile.
After the conference of the burghers
the Piper is offered fifteen guilders in
place of the thousand originally prom-
ised. While he indignantly refuses the
organ calls the people to prayer and
the Piper would be alone in the square
save for the children who cluster about
him begging him to pipe. In anger
and pity he wonders why these little
ones should be left to grow up among
such selfish, grasping folk — and then he
pipes softly the Kinderspell.
"The children stop first, and look
at him, fascinated ; then they laugh,
drowsily, and creep closer — Jan always
near. They crowd around him. He
pipes louder, moving backwards slowly,
with magical gestures, towards the
little by-streets and the closed doors.
The doors open everywhere.
"Out come the children : little ones
in nightgowns; bigger ones, with play-
things, toy animals, dolls. He pipes,
gayer and louder. They pour in, right
and left. Motion and music fill the air.
The Piper lifts Jan to his shoulder
(dropping the little crutch) and
marches off up the street at the rear,
piping, in the midst of them all.
"Last, out of the minster come
tumbling two little acolytes in red, and
after them, Peter the Sacristan. He
trips over them in his amazement and
terror ; and they are gone after the van-
ishing children before the church-
people come out."
Up in the hollow of the hill the Piper
stitches away at tiny red shoes, count-
less ones, for the children, as they sleep.
A pot is boiling over a fire of faggots.
But one has dreamed — poor Rudi, that
"Lump" was dead. His crying wakes
the other children who explain to the
Piper that "Lump" was their favorite
dog. Whereon he speaks :
Piper' (shocked and pained) — The
dog ! — No, no. Heaven save us — I for-
got about the dogs !
Rudi — He wanted me — and I always
wasn't there ! And people tied him up
— and other people pretended that he
bit. He never bites ! He wanted me,
until it broke his heart, and he was
dead !
Piper (struggling with his emotion)
— And then he went to heaven to chase
the happy cats up all the trees — little
white cats ! He wears a
golden collar ... And sometimes
— (aside) — I'd forgot about the dogs!
Well, dogs must suffer, so that men
grow wise. 'Twas ever so.
There must also be piped a Dance-
spell for Barbara that she may be happy
with Michael, instead of being banished
to the nunnery. She recalls his Kinder-
spell and says :
You bewitched them !
Piper — Yes, so it seems. But how?
Upon my life, 'tis more than I know —
yes, a little more.
(Rapidly: Half in earnest and half
in whimsy.) Sometimes it works, and
sometimes no. There are some things,
upon my soul, I cannot do.
How do I know? If I knew all, why
should I care to
live
No, no! The
game is What-Will-Happen-Next?
To
The spell performs its magic,
the plea:
Will you go with him? He will be
gentler to you than a father; he would
be brothers five and dearest friend.
And sweetheart — ay, and knight and
servingman !
comes the woman's yielding:
JOSEPHINE PRESTON PEABODY
275
All, all for thee ! (She leans over in
a playful rapture and binds her hair
about him.) Look — I will be thy
garden that we lost. Yea, everywhere
— in every wilderness. There shall
none fright us with a flaming sword!"
But I will be thy garden !
While rage and mourning consume
the hearts of the parents the children
are leading joyful lives in the moun-
tains with the devoted Piper who has
no thought of relinquishing them, until
one day he meets the desperate, hag-
gard Veronika, hunting for Jan. After
he has stonily refused the mother's
plea, he stops before the shrine of the
Christ, the Lonely Man, and struggles
thus:
I will not, no I will not, Lonely
Man! I have them in my hand. I
have them all — all — all ! And I have
lived unto this day. (He waits as if
for some reply. He pleads, defends,
excuses passionately, before his will
gives way, as the arrow flies from the
bowstring.) — I will not give them back!
Look, Lonely Man ! You shall have
all of us to wander the world over,
where You stand at all the crossways,
and on lonely hills — outside the
churches, where the lost ones go ! And
the wayfaring men, and thieves and
wolves, and lonely creatures, and the
ones that sing!- We will show all men
what we hear and see; and we will
make Thee lift Thy head and smile.
No, no, I cannot give them all ! No,
no. Why wilt Thou ask it? Let me
keep but one. No, no, I will not.
. . . Have Thy way. I will !
Veronika lies ill — the priest declares
that her soul is passing — but the Piper
woos her back to life by placing Jan
within her arms.
There are other children to be
wakened.
The Piper sounds a few notes; then
View from Stratford Memorial Theatre
276
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
Avenue to Trinity Church
lifts his hand and listens, smiling. —
Uproar in the distance. — A great bark-
ing of dogs ; shouts and cheers ; then
the high, sweet voices of the children.
The piping is drowned in cries of joy.
The sun comes out, still rosy, in a
flood of light. The crowd rushes in.
Fat burghers hug each other, and laugh
and cry. They are all younger. Their
faces bloom, as by a miracle. The
children pour in.' Some are carried,
some run hand-in-hand. Everywhere
women embrace their own. — An up-
roar of light and faces.
"Ah, the high-road now," says the
Piper, and, having kept his promise to
the Lonely Man he disappears, and,
from the distance, comes the far-off
sound of piping.
These brief extracts give but an im-
perfect hint of the prize play. A
reading of the complete work, for
which every lover of literature must
thank Miss Peabody, will but whet the
appetite to see its stage production.
American interest in Stratford-on-
Avon is intense' and perpetual. Wash-
ington Irving's private chapel at Red
Horse Inn is a reminder of his famous
visit there. It is recorded that Barnum's
eager proposal to purchase the Shake-
speare cottage and move it to America
was what induced the English people,
suddenly startled, to buy it for the na-
tion. Le Gallienne says : "The people of
Stratford are good priests. They do
not forget the services to the great
dead in whose green temple they are all
more or less directly servants. The
humblest shopkeeper is proudly con-
scious that he keeps his shop in
Shakespeare's town, while the inn-
keepers regard themselves as veritable
high-priests of this mystery which so
many cross the Atlantic and so few
cross England, to revere." In one of
his own many pilgrimages to the town,
as he noted the signature of William
Winter in the visitors' book, he com-
mented appreciatively: "He will some
day be remembered, less because he
JOSEPHINE PRESTON PEABODY
277
was the first dramatic critic of Amer-
ica, as because he loved our Stratford
so well." W. Winter, who is a New
Englander, writes, in his "Gray and
Gold" : "It is, in part, to Americans
that Stratford owes its Shakespeare's
Memorial ; for while the land on which
it stands was given by that public-
spirited citizen of Stratford, Charles
Edwin Flower, a sound and fine
Shakespeare scholar, as his acting
edition of the plays may testify, and
while money to pay for the building
of it was freely contributed by
wealthy residents of Warwickshire,
and by men of all ranks throughout
the kingdom, the gifts and labors of
Americans were not lacking to that
good cause. Edwin Booth was one
of the earliest contributors to the
Memorial Fund, and the names of
Herman Vezin, M. D. Conway, W. H.
Reynolds, Mrs. Bateman, Louise
Chandler Moulton, occur in the first
list of its subscribers. Miss Kate Field
worked for its advancement with re-
markable energy and practical success.
Miss Mary Anderson acted for its
benefit in 1885. . . ." The libraries
of the Birthplace and of the Memorial
alike contain gifts of American books.
The Jubilee gift of a drmking-fountain
made to Stratford by George W. Childs
of Philadelphia was dedicated on Oc-
tober 17, 1887. Henry Irving delivered
an eloquent address, and then read a
poem composed for the occasion by
Oliver Wendell Holmes.
To go back to the beginning of
things : feeling was strong at the Ter-
centenary Festival in 1864 that some
fitting memorial should be erected to
Shakespeare. In 1874 the project was
practically revived by the presentation
of the site and one thousand pounds
by C. E. Flower, who expressed the
desire that the monument should take
the form of a Memorial Theatre. The
first stone of this theatre was laid on
Shakespeare's birthday, 1877, with full
Masonic ceremonies. The Inaugural
Festival of its opening was held April
23, 1879. Kate Field recited the dedi-
catory poem written for the occasion
by a Londoner and there was a produc-
tion of "Much Ado About Nothing."
Miss Field's interest may have been
quickened by the fact that an ancestor
of hers, Nathaniel Field, was an
Elizabethan dramatist, a member of
Shakespeare's company of players,
whose play, "Woman as a Weather-
cocke," is often quoted.
The group of memorial buildings
comprise the theater, which seats less"
than a thousand; a library and a pic-
ture gallery. In the two latter are as-
sembled all the books upon Shakespeare
which have been published, and many
choice paintings which illustrate his
life and works.
The Church of the Holy Trinity,
which is Shakespeare's grave, and the
Memorial are quite near each other.
The acres of vacant land belonging to
the Memorial estate will be beautified
as the years go by, and the walks and
gardens by Avon's stream will take on ;
if possible, greater charms. The inter-
est and importance of the Shakespeare
festival will also increase, but perhaps
never will Americans, bearing in mind
both the historical spot and the staging
of "The Piper," exclaim again so fer-
vently :
O to be in England,
Now that April's here !
The Taet family tree
On the Trail of the Pioneer Tafts
Bv BEATRICE PUTNAM
Librarian of the Uxbridge Free Public Library
O
UR family have not embarked
much upon national politics,
except that they have shared in
the battles of the country when na-
tional independence was to be won and
also when the Union was at stake. But
brilliant political careers have not been
characteristic of the Tafts in the past.
It is not safe to say what may yet be in
store for them. 'There is a tide in the
affairs of men/ and so of families."
These words, that were spoken by Judge
Alphonso Taft in an historical address
given before the Taft family gathering
in Uxbridge, Mass., on August 12,
1874, were prophetic. In the eminent
position now held by his son their pre-
diction has been fulfilled. The Taft
family tree has at last borne a Presi-
dent. Thereupon, Taft homes, Taft rel-
ics and Taft burial spots have become
of mighty interest. The tide of this in-
terest rose to its full during the sum-
mer months in the old towns of Men-
don and -Uxbridge. For it was there,
when the villages were one, 'way back
in 1680, that the pioneer carpenter,
Robert Taft, came with his wife and
builded him a home.
. This article is written that far-off
Tafts may know what remains may be
found of their earty ancestors. The an-
swers to questions that have been asked
by the visitors regarding landmarks
and families form its basis.
The first source of information to
which any one interested in the family
turns is to Judge Alphonso's address.
It is so complete and accurate that suc-
ceeding genealogical students have
been able to add little to it. It is an
historical document of the greatest
value. The inspiration received from
reading it is what has sent many of the
summer pilgrims journeying to Men-
don and Uxbridge. And there they find
that the words of Judge £hapin, the
poet of the Taft family gathering, still
ring true :
"In early days, old people say,
A stranger in this town
When going up the road one day
Met some one coming down.
'Good morning, Mr. Taft !' said he ;
The fellow onty laughed,
And said, 'Just how, explain to me,
You know my name is Taft?'
The stranger said, 'I've only met
A dozen since I came,
And all but one who've spoken yet
Have answered to the name.
So, judging from a fact like this,
I candidly confess
I thought I could not hit amiss
And ventured on a guess.' "
It is in Mendon that the family for-
tunes started, so it is there that the
eager genealogist should begin his pil-
grimage by viewing the houselot where
Robert and Sarah Taft built their home.
This is upon the east side of what is
now known as Nipmuck Lake, some-
what less than a mile from Mendon
center. Robert and his five sons in
time came to own all the land that en-
compassed the beautiful sheet of water,
so that it was long called Taft's Pond.
For over two hundred years descend-
ants of the Tafts held this land and con-
trolled the pond, but as the twentieth
century opened, Old Mendon, that rail-
roads of steam had left afar off and
sleeping, was awakened by the swish
279
280
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
and swirl of the "Broomstick Train"
as it rushed from Uxbridge by the
woods and waters of Tafts, through the
drowsy center and on to Milford. Then
the groves upon the west side of the
picturesque lake were sold to the Mil-
ford & "Oxbridge Street Railroad, and
upon the site where beaux and belles of
the past generations had picnicked and
danced the buildings of an extensive
pleasure resort were erected. Now the
skating rink, bowling alleys, dancing
pavilion, outdoor theater and other
sports of Lake Nipmuck Park attract
thousands of visitors while the sum-
both also residents of Mendon, own
land adjacent to the original houselot.
When the proceedings of the Taft
family gathering were published an ap-
peal was printed in it for funds "to pro-
cure and erect a suitable monument to
our honored ancestor." This was to be
erected upon the farm of Alanson.
From information that can be gathered
now, there seems to have been little
material result from this. Later, in
1897, a similar appeal was printed and
sent to members of the family. The
fund then raised was deposited in the
Uxbridge Savings Bank, and Daniel W.
The odd Taet tavern, residence oE Miss S. F. TaET
mer months last. The place is no dese-
cration of the land cleared by the sturdy
pioneers, for order and decency prevail
on every side. The old towns have been
fortunate in the recreation ground that
has sprung up near them.
The site of the first Robert's house,
as has been said, was on the east of the
lake. Of it there are no remains. The
house now standing there is owned by
Alanson Taft of Mendon. He no longer
occupies it, but prefers to spend his
days of old age in the village with his
daughter. Luther and Austin Taft,
Taft was appointed treasurer. About
this date a committee consisting of Ar-
thur R. Taft and Henry G. Taft of Ux-
bridge conferred with Alanson Taft re-
garding the erection of the proposed
monument. They were unable to reach
an agreement, so the matter lapsed and
none was built. The money, now
amounting to over $500, still lies idle
in the bank, under the trusteeship of
D. Wendell Taft, Daniel's only son.
The impetus of another enthusiastic
Taft gathering is needed to make the
monument an actuality. The spot now
ON THE. TRAIL OF THE PIONEER TAFTS
281
stands unmarked. The placard shown
in the picture is a temporary one.
In Mendon village visitors may also
find landmarks of interest. High on a
hill sits Mother Mendon, still rural,
calm and beautiful. Her pleasant farms
look off over her daughter towns where
jarring mills have attracted the popu-
lace. Here may be found in the old
graveyard the burial spot of one of
Robert's sons, Daniel. The cellar of
Daniel's house is also shown. The site
where the first three meeting houses
stood has been made into "Founders'
Park," through the instrumentality of
it, that they might easily reach their
estates where the best land lay. The
family succeeded in getting the town of
Mendon to vote "that Mr. Taft and his
sons should be freed from working at
the highways, in case they build a
bridge over the 'Great River' to the
land on the west side of said river, until
other men's work come to be propor-
tionable to theirs in working upon the
highways." This was in 1709. Judge
Alphonso Taft says : "The bridge was
built and was probably the first bridge
ever built over that river." Later, in
1729, the Tafts built a second bridge a
Interior oe Unitarian church, Mendon
the Mendon Historical Society, and a
suitable tablet has been erected there.
Robert's sons, Thomas, Robert and
Daniel, were each given a part of the
original lot of land and thereupon built
and occupied houses. The two younger
sons, Joseph and Benjamin, crossed the
"Great River," now the Blackstone,and
built their homes upon the fertile in-
tervales of Uxbridge. When these sons
of Father Robert, in their zeal for land,
began farming these extensive tracts on
the west bank of the "Great River," a
need at once arose for a bridge to cross
short distance below the first, and this
time the town allowed them sixty
pounds toward expense. It is a pleas-
ant walk to the site of this old bridge.
A lane opposite the Henry G. Taft es-
tate leads directly to it through rich
meadow lands, where wild flowers
bloom and birds sing. The west abut-
ment still stands in good condition,
though builded nearly two hundred
years ago. It looks as if it might stand
yet another generation, though the
river's current there flows swift and
strong. Upon the east bank some of
!82
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
r
Homestead oe the late Edward C. Thayer, now owned by Mrs. W. A. L. Bazeley
the uncemented rocks are still to be
seen, showing - that the Tafts knew well
how to build. While the traffic of this
day takes another course, the old road
is being washed away and overgrown,
and the fragments of the old bridge
stand alone in picturesque decay.
There are now three large farms and
one small one upon this western Taft
land and all are owned by descendants
of the family, all are highly cultivated
and all are kept in the finest order. The
houses are furnished with interesting
old relics, and traditions of bygone
Tafts can be culled from ancient rec-
ords and family stories. These are
model farms, most pleasant to visit.
The farm situated farthest south is
owned by Mrs. W. A. L. Bazeley, a de-
scendant of Daniel. It is occupied by
her now as a summer residence. The
house was built by Daniel's son, Baza-
leel, and has been owned since. by his
direct descendants. Mrs. Bazeley's lit-
tle daughters represent the fifth genera-
tion that has lived in the old house.
The adjoining farm is the property
of the Henry G. Taft estate. This also
is open only in the summer, a farmer
being in charge during the winter.
The land occupied by the next farms
was originally the property of Joseph,
the ancestor of President Taft. A small
portion of his houselot is now in pos-
session of Mrs. Eugene Farnum, who
lives there in an attractive little house
with her family.
The last farm is the spot in Uxbridge
most closely connected with President
Taft, for it was there that the house of
his great-great-grandfather stood. No
remains of the house are now there, but
near the supposed site is the cellar of a
barn that was standingwithin the mem-
ory of man. This cellar was probably
that of one of Joseph's buildings. The
farm is now divided by the main
road running between Providence and
Worcester. Across the road from the
cellar stands the house of the farm's
present owner, George Zadoc Taft. He
is a descendant of Aaron, who was a
brother of the President's Great-great-
grandfather Peter.
ON THE TRAIL OF THE PIONEER TAFTS
-283
Scattered throughout Uxbridge are
the homes of countless Tafts, all de-
scendants of the first Robert. On every
hand are signs of their thrift and indus-
try.
The Taft homestead that has at-
tracted the most attention in the past
is that owned by Miss Sarah F. Taft.
Here George Washington stopped over
night during his first presidency. The
story of this has been told so many
times that it is hardly necessary to re-
peat it here. The best account of the
old house is contained in a pamphlet
written by Miss Taft, called "The Old
Taft Tavern." This was published by
the Deborah Wheelock Chapter, D. A.
R., of Uxbridge.
The Thayer Memorial Building, the
home of the Uxbridge Free Public Li-
brary, was given by Edward C. Thayer
in memory of his father and his Taft
mother. The walls of the building are
hung with portraits of the representa-
tive men and women of past genera-
tions, and the majority of these bear
the name of Taft. In the building
now also hangs one of the Taft
family trees, loaned by Arthur R.
Taft. This tree was drawn in 1862
by Dr. Jonathan Taft of Cincinnati.
The plate was shortly afterwards
destroyed by fire, so that it is no
longer possible to get copies of the
original. It has, however, been photo-
graphed by E. A. Adams of Whitins-
ville, Mass.
And so, in these villages of old Mas-
sachusetts — ■
"Old Robert's stockisstrongandsound,
And while the waters run
This vine shall spread its roots around.
And bud and blossom on !"
Site of the first Taft house in Uxbridge
The proceedings of the Taft family gathering were published shortly after the
meeting. The president of the association then formed, Daniel W. Taft, bore the expense
of the publication. He died July 27, 1906.
When The Shadows Lengthen
By ELLEN BURNS SHERMAN
TO many of the minor ends of ex-
istence one may take cross-cuts.
Parnassus has been gained by a
single bound and the Midas-touch con-
ferred, all in a few brief moons, by a
patent pill or a hair-crimper. But as
yet, not one has discovered any method
of shortening the regular schedule time
required to win the mellow virtues and
graces which properly belong to old
age.
Undeniably, old age, or its simula-
tion, has sometimes been gained pre-
maturely by means of black arts; but
never, in such cases has there been
won with it the effulgent charms which
make the aureola of old age. Indeed,
old age won by black arts bears the
same resemblance to the legitimate
brand under discussion that a yellow,
worm-eaten wind-fall bears to the
sound and mellow fruit, which falls,
not because it has a worm at its center,
but from the slow ripening processes of
Nature. Bearing gentle witness to
similar beneficent processes, there have
been in every age of the world silver-
haired saints whose characters sug-
gest the choice qualities which belong
to rare old violins and mellow wines.
Pursuing the comparison farther,
however, one discovers by consulting
the files of memory that time, alone,
is powerless to confer the mellow rich-
ness mentioned. A poor violin, a poor
wine or a bad man cannot rely upon
the years for any title to honor. Po-
lonius was old, but his gray hairs were
not a crown of glory. Falstaff, also,
came at last "within range of the rifle-
pits" only to hear from King Hal the
stinging rebuke:
"How ill white hairs become a fool and
jester!
284
I have long dreamed of such a kind I
of man,
So surfeit-swelled, so old and so pro- j
fane."
And life, in painful verification of
Shakespeare, gives every generation
sorry duplicates of Polonius and Fal-
staff, as well as thousands of other vari-
ations of old age, unhaloed and un-
hallowed because the proper ingredi-
ents were not mixed with the passing
years. But a brief recognition of the
existence of such grey-haired repro-
bates is happily all that lies within the
purpose of this paper, which concerns
itself, instead, with the more grateful
study of cases in which old age has
matched in itself now the warm blue
enchantment of Indian Summer, or
again, the deep, rich tints of a linger-
ing afterglow.
The privilege of knowing a good old
gentleman or a good old lady is one
whose rare value is seldom recognized
by myopic youth. It is only when time
begins to warn one with the italics of a
gray hair or two, and the deepening of
facial lines, that one can have the per-
spective which shows the lacks of
youth and the gains of age. From this
vantage-ground, looking before and
after, one appreciates how beneficently
it was ordained that most of us should
have grandparents, or, lacking these,
the opportunity to know the grand-
parents of others. For how beautifully
does a beautiful old age answer most
of the vitally poignant questions of
life ! Sooner or later, some disillusion
makes us level against the universe
the old, old queries:
Is life worth living? What is it all
for, anyway?
How the questions dissolve, like sun
WHEN THE SHADOWS LENGTHEN
2S5
dispelled mist, in the presence of any
grey-haired conqueror whose face
banishes all doubt in an illuminated
table of beatitudes. Compared with a
group of these human documents — the
souls' authentic monographs on life,
written in the slow cryptograph of
thought and feeling, — how trivial look
the material possessions which some-
times possess the collectors of time-
tinted folios and old engravings. . For
while I cannot deny a certain accelera-
tion of my own heart-beats at the sight
of hoary volumes and old furniture
which majestically triumph over their
futilely dapper successors, there is an-
other antiquarian field whose enchant-
ments lure me far more strongly. So it
follows that I would not exchange for
all the treasures of the richest attics
of antiquarian dreams my own collec-
tion whose value is beyond all mone-
tary computation.
In a word, while others have been
collecting old tea-cups, old chairs and
old clocks, I have for a number of years
collected nice old ladies and nice old
gentlemen. Of course, nobody will so
far misunderstand me as to fancy that
these nice' old ladies and nice old
gentlemen have been materially cap-
tured, like so many curios, and stored
up to excite the envy of neighboring
collectors. No, indeed, my antiquarian
kingdom has not come by violence, but
by observation, unmarred by any
vulgar haggling 'twixt buyer and
seller. The collectee has never known
when he or she was being collected for
the silent galleries of memory. And
though within the strangely elastic
walls enclosing them, they are often
brought cheek by jowl by the laws of
association, they have never met each
other in what is so quaintly called
"real life." There, their ways have
lain wide asunder — as wide in some
cases as the unknown space which lies
between us and the Undiscovered
Country.
And yet, had they known each other
in "real life," I feel sure that they
would all have found each other as
lovable as I have found all of them.
In truth, I must confess that my fancy
has made many a fine holiday for it-
self by pairing off my collectees in the
cosiest of tete-a-tetes. One gallant
old nonagenarian, in particular, I have
made much happier than I fear Fate
has allowed him to be in the lonely
thirty years he was left mateless.
Not that I would for worlds tamper
with the unique and tender constancy
which was one of the qualities which
elected him to halo-rights in my Al-
mond-Tree Society. But some harm-
less Platonic pleasures my fancy has
apportioned him in the companionship
of two or three of the most bewitching
of my old ladies. And the bewitching
old ladies are nothing averse. I can
see them now, beaming upon him, with
smiles that seem a translation of the
subtle fragrance of rose-petals pressed
many years between the leaves of a
book. I have even allowed the very
nicest old lady — but there ! why should
you not meet her yourself and some
of the rest of these charmers and un-
derstand why the sight of silver locks
arouses in me more pulsing expecta-
tions than the choicest piece of faience
can excite in the bosom of a connois-
seur.
And as other antiquarians begin with
the proud exhibition of their rarest
treasure, so shall I with one of my
most cherished possessions — Saint
Benedicta, as I sometimes call her,
though more often the Lady of Light.
I discovered her in a New England
city, the next day after I had seen the
new moon over my right shoulder, and
for months she seemed too good to be
true. But I found that she was as
true as she was good and much more.
In sober truth, she sometimes seems
too young to belong to my collection,
although she is in her eightieth year.
And yet her youthfulness at that age
is one of the reasons why I collected
her. Even were she but sixty, I should
still find some pretext for including
her among the chosen because of her
remarkable mastery of the difficult art
of growing old.
Even her soft, silver hair utterly re-
jects the usual insignia of age, retain-
ing about her temples a few coquet-
236
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
tish waves that accord well with the
unimpaired twinkle of her eyes. And
by this same twinkle you may know
her most dominant characteristics.
For the twinkle does not come slowly,
like the delayed report from the far-
oft end of a lighted fuse, but as in-
stantaneously as light follows the turn
of an electric switch. So the twinkle
is the outward and visible sign of a
keen responsiveness to everything in
the universe that was ordained to in-
cite a twinkle. Nor less easily do the
same eyes grow sympathetically ten-
der and overflow whenever the emo-
tional deeps are stirred.
The resilient qualities which have
preserved Queen Benedicta's twinkle
may also account for her delightful
girlishness from which time and all the
experiences of life have failed to rub
the bloom. If one should try to make
one word cover her composite lovable-
ness, charm would be the most exact
term, inasmuch as it conveys no exact
meaning and thus shares the indefin-
ableness which it seeks to define. Yet
elusive as this composite quality may
be, one is tempted to find its prismatic
colors by analytical refraction. In this
case I think the result of the experi-
ment would show imagination, sen-
sitiveness, sympathy, tact, courtesy and
genuine kindness of heart.
It would be pleasant to believe that
one might acquire all of these quali-
ties and compound them together into
charm. But alas! "truth is sad," as
Emerson observed, and if one squares
one's conclusion to facts, one must
admit that charm is a cradle gift. One
is born with it or one is not, as a
flower either has or has not fragrance.
So I know that Queen Benedicta must
have been a charming baby, a charm-
ing four-year-old, also charming at
ten, sixteen, twenty, twenty-five, thirty,
and forty. Yet at none of these ages
could she have been quite so charming,
I think, as I now find her at eighty.
For the fairy vow that is given with
the dower of charm declares that its
power can never be stolen by the thiev-
ing hands of Time. On the contrary,
Time seems disposed to give to him
that hath charm that he may have more
abundantly. Almost it would seem
that each factor of charm possesses
magnetic properties which work to-
gether for the good of the charmer.
So much is probably true of even
the most secular charmer. But my
Lady Benedicta is still more than that.
For she has put out at interest the
natal principal given to her by the
fairies, and at such rates of interest
as are given by Christianity alone. By
means of this spiritual thrift she has
achieved in herself what the florists
have done in producing the multi-
petaled, velvet Jacqueminot rose from
its wild ancestor with the scanty cor-
olla. Or, to state the fact in other
terms, charm, plus the increments of
religious idealism is charm raised to
its highest power. A comparison,
moreover, of the various members of
my Almond-Tree Society has convinced
me that an irreligious old lady gives
one a feeling of sympathetic loneli-
ness. There is only one such in my
whole collection, a woman of ninety.
She was included because she has a
certain stoical sincerity which lends
dignity to her paganism. She never
prays, as she frankly declares that she
never could see that it did any good,
and so she "quit it." She thinks life
does not furnish the entertainment
offered by its various hand bills, but
she promises to "die game," and face
whatever is next as she has faced the
reverses of the world she has known.
I like this old lady exceedingly and
I respect her genuineness ; yet she
leaves me always with a chilly emo-
tional fringe. Old ladies are certainly
nicer when they say their prayers and
believe in them. Then the habit of
praying does add a spiritual embellish-
ment, not otherwise obtainable, to their
faces as well as to their lives. I am,
therefore, glad that all the rest of my
old ladies and old gentlemen have "a
correspondence fixed wi' heaven."
Returning to Queen Benedicta, as
everyone does who knows her, a few
more words of appreciation are due
before passing to the consideration of
any of my other treasures. If you
WHEN THE SHADOWS LENGTHEN
287
hould ever chance to see her, you
would discover all that this paper
-ecords much more beautifully written
n her face. Beside its lines of spirit-
ual distinction, its humorous curves,
ts wistfully tender lights and shadows,
the blank, unedited face of my youth-
ul belle I know seems like a high-
:olored chromo beside the mellow
Dainting of an old master.
Again and again I have surrepti-
iously studied Queen Benedicta's face
while she bent over her wonderful em-
3roideries and tried to find out how
she has done it. Like the bee she has
cnown how to distil sweetness alone
: rom the same field where others have
aken away only thorn-pricks and
Iburrs. While I cannot fathom her
secret I have indulged in many a
j^uess. Perhaps she has distilled
sweetness, only, because she was on
Be look-out for that in everybody.
Again, I have fancied that when others
gave her pain, she has temporarily
vanished the thought of the offender
ind the offense, striving only to keep
ler own heart in perfect tune, until
:he other heart caught the harmony
)y contagion.
It is trifling but significant evidence
o the kinetic power of her graces that
ueen Benedicta still receives valen-
ines from her admirers of all ages.
Mor are they the "ready-made" kind,
vith appreciations as loosely adjustable
is a golf-cap. Among her invoice of
valentines for 1909 there was one
vhose estimate of her so perfectly
coincides with mine that it may fit-
ingly close my tribute to the Lady
)f Light :
The Winter snow may hide away
The flowrets sweet that dreaming lie,
But snowy locks cannot conceal
IVhat blossoms in my sweetheart's eye.
or hardy blooms of grace are these,
Afhose roots within the heart spring
deep,
Vnd every year but adds new flowers
Nhere love and faith the garden keep.
With such ceremony as is accorded
a true sovereign, we may now move in
backward recessional from the pres-
ence of Queen Benedicta and meet the
Lady Seigerin, so called, because of
noble victories wrested from many
battle-fields of pain. And though she
no longer dwells with us in visible
form, I think you may still see her
when memory has developed the spirit-
ual negatives which she left behind.
Lady Siegerin was a woman of re-
gal mould in mind and body. She
had wonderfully liquid brown eyes and
a forehead that promised all that her
character fulfilled. So sensitively
organized was the physical material
used by her soul, that when her vizor
was down there seemed to be more
said in her silent expression than when
the average woman is talking. She
was a woman who always got hold of
the big end of things, though the first
half of her life fell in an age that had
not yet opened its eyes to the fact that
it is a national calamity when women
are so frivolous-minded that their com-
panionship is undesirable for their hus-
bands and children.
Being a woman of engrossingly
large aims and ideals, it was a natural
corollary that the Lady Siegerin never
nagged. Illuminating this negative
virture, a saying of hers still survives
in the family to which she belonged.
Someone in her presence had detailed
somewhat too amply the petty wrang-
lings and disputes which were of daily
occurrence between a well-known
nagger and her husband. Lady Sieg-
erin listened quietly until all the evi-
dence was in, when she remarked in the
richly modulated voice which was so
harmoniously hers : "It would be so
much better to have one Waterloo
battle and have things settled."
If for no other reason, the honors
which she carried away from her own
Waterloos would have made me choose
Lady Siegerin to adorn my collection.
She lost her husband, a gentleman of
much distinction, two brilliant daugh-
ters and then with a respite of only
a few months between the slings and
arrows of outrageous fortune, she be-
came totally blind. Of her deadly
288
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
wrestlings in the physical and spiritual
darkness which followed no one ever
heard her speak a word. But when
she emerged to meet the world her face
wore the calm strength of a conqueror.
In its quiet lines of triumph, which had
grown almost majestic when I knew
her, one might read a flesh and blood
translation of Henley's lines :
"I am the master of my fate;
I am the captain of my soul."
Like many others deprived of one
sense, Lady Siegerin became most
keenly sensitive in all her others, each
of which seemed to take on the semi-
occult edge of intuition. She could de-
tect the aura of a gentleman with a
swift inerrancy which would be the
salvation of many a woman having
eyes that see not, and she herself was
always the touch-stone for the gentle-
man and the boor. The former instinc-
tively and gladly did homage to her;
but the boor, thinking she could not
see, ignored her, little thinking how
much more she saw without her eyes
than he with his.
Among all my youthful memories,
Lady Siegerin stands out like a sculp-
tured masterpiece of victory, her half-
closed eyes still comely in old age and
every line of her face eloquent with
heroic grace.
Near the Lady Siegerin, as these
visions now group themselves in
memory, stands a more recent addition
to my collection, Miss Gentilissima.
In point of years, she is hardly quali-
fied for membership in an Almond-
Tree Society, and should be kept on
the waiting list at least ten or fifteen
years. For though her hair is beauti-
fully grey, I fear she could only pass
as a near-old beside the rest of my
treasures. But she is so unmistakably
an exceptionally fine old lady in the
making that it would not be sensible
to let a mere technicality of years out-
weigh so much evidence of things
hoped for.
I suppose Miss Gentilissima would
be inadequately labeled an "old maid"
by the vulgar Philistine who has not
learned that all kinds of women marry
and all kinds of women don't. "Some
of the merriest and most genuine
women are old maids and have often
most of the true motherly touch,"
wrote Stevenson, whose observation j
did not stop with the crude perception
of one or two external facts. To this [
class of motherly old maids inventoried!
by Stevenson, Miss Gentilissima be-l
longs. She is placed next to Lady|
Siegerin because she is half blind and,]
somewhat deaf, but still the captain of I
her soul.
Despite the serious barriers placed!
between her and her fellowmen, Miss I
Gentilissima is an uncommonly well- 1
informed, interesting and inspiring I
woman. She has a fine face,, whose
dominant expression is gentleness, a \
quality which is also revealed in her 1
voice. In her case, as in Lady Sieger- |
in's, the inward eye has grown more
sensitively acute with the dimming of
the physical vision. With the removal
of the material objects which some-
times monopolize the field of vision
she has learned to see vastly more im-
portant things, often missed by the
outer eye and ear. It is perhaps in-
cidental testimony on this point that
my first recollection of her face always
brings a suggestion of spiritual illu-
mination. Something similar I have |
seen in the faces of others of her re-
ligious faith. 'But as this statement
might lead to the disputatious quick- 1
sands of comparison, I shall immedi-
ately put up the bars by confessing
that I have seen spiritual high lights
on the faces of men and women of
every kind of denominational stripe.
From one or two remarks which I
heard Miss Gentilissima make I fear
she has little notion how much she en-
riches the world, not knowing what she
gives to it. There are plenty of people
who can give things, money and more
or less perishable bric-a-brac, but very
few whose characters emit light and
warmth. And who has ever been able
to measure the value of such light and.
warmth? Sunlight is all that is needed
by which to read the time-tables that
schedule the various routes to the tit-
WHEN THE SHADOWS LENGTHEN
289
termost ends of the earth. But some-
thing more than the sun can give is
needed to read correctly the time-
tables containing all the necessary in-
formation concerning changes and con-
nections on the various routes to The
Kingdom of Light. And this more in-
tense illumination is given by those
who, like Miss Gentilissima, are celes-
tial sign-posts along the narrow way.
There are in my collection more
than a dozen other near-old ladies in
whom I take great pride. Their indi-
vidual histories, however, could not be
given without encroaching upon space
set apart for their elders. So I must
content myself with grouping them to-
gether as most promising shoots in my
Almond-Tree nursery. Neither is there
space for full length portraits of all my
octogenarians and nonagenarians. Yet
it would be a pity to miss meeting
Madame Sparta, in her ninety-eighth
year, and as erect in carriage and char-
acter as a Norway pine. Though she
lacks something of the gentleness and
grace of others in my collection she
has a warm, tender heart and a mind
still unclouded by the mists of time.
One star differeth from another star in
glory, as one tree differeth from an-
other. Madame Sparta suggests the
Lombardy poplar, which has a charm
all its own, while Queen Benedicta
and Lady Siegerin are sisters of the
elm, which unites grace with strength.
Madam Sparta is as fond of her
flower garden as when her pulses beat
to livelier measures and many a bou-
quet is picked and given away by her
trembling fingers. When she is ill,
she scorns the coddling attentions of
those who would nurse her. One ex-
tremely cold night when she had all
the symptoms of grippe, someone sug-
gested a hot-water bottle for her feet.
"No, indeed," she replied, "I don't
want to get into any such silly habits."
Bx pede Herculem. A woman who at
ninety-seven still refuses to acquire a
"silly habit" assuredly belongs on the
honor roll of any discerning society.
In striking external contrast with
Madam Sparta are three of my lav-
ender-and-old-lace ladies. Each of
these white-haired belles looks as if
she had just stepped out of an old-
fashioned miniature painting. Nor
does that mean that their mental and
moral adornments will not also bear
inspection. . It is simply another way
of saying that one's first impression of
them is necessarily arrested by the ap-
parel which "oft proclaims the man,"
and still oftener the woman, who en-
joys a wider charter of liberty in the
proclamation. My admiration for these
three delightful old ladies is so evenly
divided that there is no significance in
the order in which they are presented.
So, without prejudice, you shall meet
first the one with the whitest hair,
Lady Bluette, I call her because her
eyes exactly match the color of that
flower and also because she has the shy,
retreating manner of tiny blossoms,
and a charming blue-tinted guileless-
ness. Her mind has all the elasticity
of youth although she is seventy-nine,
and her capacity for enthusiastic appre-
ciation is refreshing against the drab
background of the world's apathetic
average. Her wit and humor likewise
retain the instantaneous action com-
monly supposed to be impaired by
years. Her smiles, moreover, in a
world where smiles are none too
plenty or of the best contour, would
elect her to my Silver-Lock Club.
In fine, her whole presence has a
bay-window effect on those who are
near her, so that one who sees her can-
not help wishing that every household
might have for one of its numbers a
duplicate of Lady Bluette.
The second member of my miniature
group, Lady Jonquil, has also a dainty,
bo-peeping humor, whose piquancy
etches with very individual line one's
mental picture of her. She has a prettv
habit of clipping all the choicest jokes
and bits of poetry from newspapers and
old magazines and sending them in
letters to people who need to smile.
Lady Jonquil has a fine eye for color
and knows precisely what shades may
be fitly joined with her silken grey
tresses and darker grey eyes. After
the bonnets bloom in the spring mar-
ket-place, Lady Jonquil's friends watch
290
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
for her appearance as the flower-lover
watches for the unfolding of his fa-
vorite April blossoms, and they are
never disappointed. Eschewing all the
fearful possibilities which confront the
shopper, Lady Jonquil finds her own
by the laws of artistic affinity which
one would like to see duplicated more
frequently in more important marts.
Yet you must not think her vain, for
she is far from it. When she is once
properly attired she gives the matter
no more thought, whereas she might
be likely to if her sartorial election
were less sure. There are great many
other happy facts which might be
chronicled of Lady Jonquil but we
have still to consider Lady Gratia, the
third member of the old lace group.
You may easily identify Lady Gratia
by a peculiarly undulating gait and a
curvilinear effect in all her movements
Nor is this in the least an affectation
but, as I take it, the result of a fine
marginal surplus of health and good
humor. A business woman is often
obliged to take the shortest line be-
tween two points, in her walk and con-
versation, so that she may not play the
"grace notes" of abundant leisure, much
as she might like to. But Lady Gratia
has had all the time she cared to use
for playing grace notes. So, when she
rustles across a room one is reminded
of the beautifully rippled movements
of the grey squirrels that undulate over
Boston Common. From their fine mar-
gin of nonchalance they seem to greet
the rushing men and women who pass
with that serene query of Concord,
"So hot, my little sir!"
In the mental movements of Lady
Gratia there is something, too, in per-
fect harmony with her gait. Again,
the shortest distance between the idea
and its expression, covered by the
epigram, is not for her, however fit-
tingly it may come from others ; in-
stead, she uses a pleasant curvilinear
statement which recognizes the claims
of beauty as well as of truth. Like
all the rest of my fine old ladies, with
one exception, Lady Gratia has a low,
melodious voice and will stand the test
which Cardinal Newman gave for dis-
covering a gentleman, a test equally
applicable to a lady: "It is almost the
definition of a gentleman to say that
he is one who never intentionally
wounds the feelings of another."
Having thus far heeded the motto:
"Place aux Dames," one may now do
obeisance to the fine old gentlemen
who have been kept in waiting —
longer than befits their merits.
Casting a comparative glance at all
these old gentlemen (whose number is
only one less than that of their sisters)
I am struck with the fact that the "best
preserved" mentally, morally, and
physically in the collection are the
ones with the most twinkle, and the
same is true of the nice old ladies.
You will therefore know the star col-
lectee among the bearded contingent,
St. Lux, by his sunshine, which eighty
years have dimmed as little as clouds
can permanently dim the rays of the
sun. In character, Saint Lux (with
Roman pronunciation, please) is a
happy blend of Saint Paul and John
the Disciple, with a modern admixture
of Emerson and a still more modern
and stronger and sweeter flavoring of
himself. As Saint Lux is well-known to
the public, one hesitates to give too full
an inventory of his charms, even weie
that a possibility, lest the modest
original should object to a photograph
of his halo. Beyond a doubt, Saint
Lux would b»elong to everybody's
Almond-Tree Society, if everybody had
one, so I can claim no more property
right in him than I have in the blessed
sunshine which touches a million
blades and blossoms in its beneficent
course through planetary space.
Among my nice old gentlemen are
several others well known to fame.
Certainly no Silver-Lock Club would
fail to enroll the name of Edward
Everett Hale. The long life and faith
of the latter recall a statement recently
made that Unitarianism seemed to be
conducive to longevity. Be that as
it may, one might pick from the Uni-
tarian pulpit alone, beginning with
the "dear moth-eaten angel," a large and
choice collection of octogenarians who
were and are the personification of
i
WHEN THE SHADOWS LENGTHEN
291
sweetness and light. To these might
be added large recruits from clerical
near-olds, now in the Unitarian pulpit,
who promise to be every bit as lumin-
ous when their halos have acquired an
octogenarian diameter.
Here the reader is entreated not to
construe this tribute as a comparison
of the Dogberryish order. For aught
the writer knows to the contrary, one
might find as many fine old gentlemen
in all kinds of pulpits and pews. It
merely happens that not so many m
other denominations have come under
the observation of the writer. Per
contra, some one else may have an em-
barrassment of riches in the way of
collections of orthodox saints, missing
in his turn the rare heterodox band I
have known. Among laymen in my
collection, one of the very best is
an orthodox octogenarian, the di-
mensions of whose character you may
glimpse in a couple of sentences from a
recent letter. After a long life spent in
doing little kindnesses this gentleman
had a paralytic stroke, from which he
has sufficiently rallied to send this mes-
sage : "I wish I could write what is in
my heart, but my brains are still out of
commission and I am under orders to
cultivate idiocy. So please wait for
anything worth while from me till
sometime or beyond time as it pleases
God."
Condolence is obviously not indi-
cated for "idiocy" which can express
itself with such gracious sanity. . A
brother and sister of this fine old
gentleman share his hardy virtues and
graces and hence hold honor, or seats,
in my unchartered club.
There are still a good dozen more
of these fine old lads who are weH
worth meeting. But one chambered
nautilus would prove the existence of
its species as well as a score. Yet, I
would have you catch the eye of just
one more who at this moment glides
into my memory from beyond the
earth-lights where he dwells. Such a
charming little scrap of an old gentle-
man he was, with grey-biue dancing
eyes and movements like a fluttering
partridge. He loved to do good by
stealth and so cover his tracks that
there would be no chance of his blush-
ing to find it fame. To his last days
he was a delightful companion for
young and old, and in the town where
he lived most of his old friends still
remember some of the quaint quips and
jests that fell so spontaneously from his
lips. Dining one day with an old ac-
quaintance, he explained that he al-
ways came out ahead on each course
because he had no teeth and, conse-
quently, swallowed anything that
would go through his collar.
The wife of this engaging old gentle-
man also adds lustre to my collection.
But as she nearly paralleled in her
character the noble traits of her aunt,
the Lady Siegerin, fuller mention of
her has been omitted. Others, too,
there are among the most tenderly
cherished of all my collection whom
you have not met because one may not
so easily lift the veil from the shrine of
one's nearest kin. Nor is there need
of more ample numerical proof of the
beautiful possibilities of old age. If
there were, I feel sure that nearly every
reader of this paper by takirig thought
might subpoena from the nooks and
byways of memory as many white-
locked witnesses as have appeared in
these pages. And could they all be
brought together, all the Almond-Tree
Societies of all my readers, would
they not make a magnificent assem-
blage, fit to fire the enthusiasm of the
greatest painters and poets? Such a
company might well suggest a forest
of giant sequoias, crowned with a ma-
jesty wrought by the years and their
withstanding. Perhaps it is this very
withstanding, more than anything else,
that leaves the inspiring record on the
faces of those who have come into the
fullest inheritance of old age. It re-
quires so many more than the adaman-
tine virtues to withstand the variously
disguised wiles of the devil. "Having
done all to stand," wrote the Apostle
Paul, who had a Roentgen-raying eye
for discovering the spinal system of any
subject to which he gave his attention
In the faces of youth and middle age
we may read a certain number of the
292 NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
chapters of the true stones which life sequel also. And however many chap-
is writing all about us. Sometimes we ters have left upon the faces of good
can tell very nearly from these serial old men and women their chronicle of
fragments and their facial titles how pain and loss, we may still read be-
the story is coming out. But reading tween the lines of the conclusion that
the faces of men and women in the there is something even better than
eighties and the nineties we know the "living happy ever after."
THE SEA BRIDE
By THEODOSIA GARRISON
She was like no other one
All the parish round;
In her soul were sea and sun,
In her laugh the sound
Of swift waves on shell-strewn sands
Never man hath found.
Father, mother, none she knew —
On the beach one day
All amazed a fisher crew
Found a child at play,
Lithe and white and wild, with hair
Gemmed with sun-dried spray.
So they taught their speech to her,
So she grew apace.
In her voice the sea-winds stir,
Like a curved wave's grace
Moved her slender form — the sea's
Beauty seemed her face.
Not a lad the parish round
But when she drew nigh
Flung his heart upon the ground
For her feet to try;
Not a lad the parish round
Gained her smile thereby.
Not for her their prayers and sighs-
Long day after day,
From sun rising to moonrise,
Still her feet would stray
Where the wild sea beckoned her.
In its combers play.
Only one who, day by day,
Followed her again — •
THE SEA BRIDE 293
One with eyes of stormy gray —
Passionate with pain
Of that love despised, that burned
Hot through heart and brain.
On the cliff that taunts the mad
Waves that leap to it,
So they met there maid and lad —
Oh, a trysting fit!
Red the great moon rose as some
Torch the furies lit.
Still she mocked him fearlessly —
Said him still the same —
'None I love but this, my sea,"
Till the madness came
In the hungry eyes of him
Like the red moon's flame.
'In your lover's arms this night
Lie you then," quoth he —
Hand of brown on throat of white
Swiftly, silently,
Down her white, young body flashed,
Down into the sea.
Know you what he saw who leant,
Maddened through and through?
Sudden waves that curved and bent
As strong arms might do
When they draw the bride beloved
To a heart thrice true.
Know you what he heard, who so
Grouched there hate-possessed?
Laughter tremulous and low,
E'en that laughter blest
Of the happy bride that lies
On her lover's breast.
She was like no other one
All the parish round ;
In her soul were sea and sun,
In her laugh the sound
Of swift waves on shell-strewn sands
Never man hath found.
Margaret Fuller Ossoli
By JOHN CLAIR MINOT
ON Cherry street, in Cambridge,
Mass., in a section of the city
formerly known as Cambridge-
port, there stands a plain, three-story
house which bears a large sign upon its
front: "Margaret Fuller House." In
this house, then a pretentious mansion,
Margaret Fuller was born May 23,
1810. In later years it has suffered the
vicissitudes of a tenement-house local-
ity, and it is now used for branch work
by the Cambridge Young Women's
Christian Association. On a little knoll
in West Roxbury, with a dark forest
behind it and green fields in front which
stretch away to the silvery Charles,
stands a quaint, red cottage, shaded by
cedars. The occasional literary pilgrim
who seeks the pretty spot is told that
this is the "Margaret Fuller Cottage,"
the only survivor of the various build-
ings occupied by the famous Brook
Farm community of 1841-46. On the
New Jersey shore, amid bleak sand
hills, there is a monument to mark the
spot where the ship Elizabeth was
wrecked in 1850, homeward bound
from Italy. In beautiful Mount Auburn
Cemetery there may be found a little
marble monument, erected three-score
years ago, which has an inscription to
the baby, Angelo Ossoli, sleeping be-
neath it, and another to the memory of
the parents, whom the cruel sea re-
fused to give up when they, like the
child, went down to death in the wreck
of the Elizabeth.
These monuments, with a few books
.which are rarely taken from the library
shelves, are the material evidences now
in existence to remind the world to-day
that Margaret Fuller once lived. Now
that the centenary of her birth has
come around, what is the estimate of
that strange and tragic life, and of the
294
influence, if any, which has survived it?
Loved and mourned as few women
have ever been, criticised and con-
demned as few women have ever been,
is oblivion closing over her, or is hers
"one of the few, the immortal names,
that were not born to die"?
In a way the monuments which have
been mentioned epitomize her career.
At least, they are suggestive of the
most notable periods of her life. There
was her youth in Cambridge, a child-
hood and girlhood from which the
youth was stolen away while she was
subjected to an intellectual forcing
process which made her the most cul-
tured woman of her generation. There
was the period of transcendentalism, of
which Brook Farm was an incidental
outgrowth — a period in which Mar-
garet Fuller was among the most in-
cessantly and aggressively active lead-
ers, teaching, lecturing and writing.
There were her closing years in Europe,
where she found in Italy both the love
which glorified her life and the oppor-
tunity on the battlefield and in the hos-
pital for splendid service in behalf of
suffering humanity. Then came the
fateful voyage and the wreck, and the
only one of her treasures to reach the
shore was the dead body of her little
son, whom her dear ones at home had
never seen in life.
There is so much of mystery in the
tragic story of her career ; so much that
is complex and contradictory in the
pictures which are drawn of her char-
acter; so much that is fascinating and
bewildering in the glimpses which we
have of her personality, that there is
little danger that the world will forget
Margaret Fuller. But the few among
the living who knew her well — two of
her leading biographers, Julia Ward
MARGARET FULLER OSSOLI
295
Howe and Thomas Wentworth Hig-
ginson, are among the number — can
scarcely fail to realize that the enthu-
siastic dreams of her ardent admirers
and faithful followers regarding the
permanent place she would occupy are
falling short of fulfilment.
It is so often that way in the case of
those whose zeal, activity and individu-
ality make a strong impress upon their
own times. Margaret Fuller made her-
self felt upon two continents. She min-
gled with the great as an equal, and the
wise gratefully acknowledged that they
were enriched by her conversation.
Some there were who scoffed and ridi-
culed; some went even beyond this.
Perhaps she was too far above them,
or perhaps they had felt the sting of a
well-directed shaft of satire. If she
made an enemy here and there, she
made for each enemy a score of loyal
and devoted friends who found no
words too strong in praising her. If
the capacity for making friends be the
test of success in life — and surely it is
one of the tests — then Margaret Fuller,
in spite of the bitter abuse of a few in-
dividuals which followed her even be-
yond the grave, won such a success as
gives her immortality. The greatest
souls of her time recognized in her a
kindred spirit, and why should not pos-
terity accept their verdict?
As to the literary work of Margaret
Fuller, it is small test of its value that
hex books are now little read. She is
in distinguished company in that re-
spect. More important than a study of
her style — which has the defects of that
period — or of her themes — which she
doubtless treated less effectively on
paper than in conversation — is the
memory of the fact that her influence
was all-powerful in the literary phase
of the transcendental movement, which
aimed to instil more Americanism into
American literature, and that in both
this country and Europe her writings
were highly esteemed by her contem-
poraries of greatest culture. As a lit-
erary critic she handled harshly the
earlier works of Lowell and Longfel-
low, but had these poets written noth-
ing in later years the world would now
agree with the reviews she penned.
The women of America have spe-
cial reasons to honor the memory of
Margaret Fuller, for she was a pioneer
who blazed the way for the progress of
her sex. Her book, "Woman in the
Nineteenth Century," was more than
half a century in advance of its time.
Her aggressive arguments in behalf of
greater legal rights for women resulted
in legislation whose fruit is enjoyed by
every American woman of to-day. At
a time when women of culture were
relatively few, and when those few
were without systematic intellectual
stimulus, she inaugurated her famous
series of "conversations" in Boston,
whose influence is still felt wherever
women's clubs are known. When no
other American woman of her genera-
tion knew what such work meant, she
was binding the wounds and soothing
the last moments of dying soldiers.
Margaret Fuller — as she will always
be more familiarly known than by the
name of the young Italian marquis,
Ossoli, whom she secretly married in
Italy — did much, loved much and suf-
fered much. She was a true daughter
of genius, and as such she must be
judged. The influences of her busy
life radiated far, and she will not be
forgotten.
CO-OPERATING FOR ALL NEW ENGLAND
By H. B. HUMPHREY
For the Pilgrim Publicity Association
THE splendid optimism that
guided the gubernatorial pens
in a recent literary symposium
on the business outlook for the New
England States in 1910 is well sup-
ported by the facts. We find that the
farmers are getting comparatively high
prices for the fruits of their tillage, and
that good roads are bringing the mar-
kets nearer to the farms ; that the great
mills and factories are busy, and that
some of them, already the largest in the
world, are about to be duplicated ; that
the influx of summer visitors promises
to be greater this year than ever before.
Yes, New England is a busy place
and there is none better to live in, and
the leaders in almost every line of en-
deavor are inclined to feel satisfied
with the undoubted prosperity. But
there is at least one line of activity the
exponents of which will never be con-
tent to accept things as they are.
Behold the advertising man! He de-
clares we have not begun to show the
world — no, not even to show New Eng-
land — what our resources are. And
what does he propose? He would have
all New England, as a community or as
a group of communities, take a course
of treatment in publicity. And if you
ask him why he thinks this is neces-
sary, he can give what, in his own mind
at least, are good reasons.
To begin with, he knows that east-
erners are inclined to think that there
is something in the soil and the air of
the West that develops communica-
tiveness, and that the dwellers in the
former home of the Puritans have in-
herited or absorbed from their sur-
roundings a habit of reserve which
amounts almost to taciturnity.
But experience has shown him that
some of the most earnest advocates
of the glories of the West and South
were born and raised to hardy man-
hood in Maine, New Hampshire or
Vermont, and that the reason they talk
so freely and so forcibly of the great
things in their adopted country is be-
cause human nature tells them to talk,
and because, having grown up with the
country, having seen the manufactur-
ing plants develop from an idea, hav-
ing watched agricultural products and
fruits matured by the aid of irrigation
from tracts of desert, they know what
they are talking about.
It goes without saying that no man
of sound judgment likes to relate gen-
eralities. They carry no weight. But
if one can give facts and figures, one
can easily get an attentive audience.
And just as soon as the people of New
England learn the remarkable facts re-
garding the beauty spots at their very
doors, the marvelous agricultural possi-
bilities of our neglected farm lands and
the variety and character of the goods
made in New England, they will talk
about these things just as enthusiasti-
cally as does the traveler from the
West and South talk about such simi-
lar glories as his home state may pos-
sess ; and the changed conditions will
usher in an important development of
civic pride and the inevitably resultant
commercial prosperity.
The advertising man would tear from
thousands of New England factories
the all too familiar sign, "No admit-
tance except on business," and would
substitute one which would be more
like the hearty catch phrase a mer-
chant of Bangor makes use of in his
advertisements, namely, "Come in and
look around."
How many manufacturing establish-
ments does the reader know of in his
297
298
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
A CONTRIBUTION TO THE NATION'S FOOD SUPPLY
own town to which visitors are wel-
come? In the whole of Boston the
writer knows only four — two publish-
ing houses, a meat-packing house and a
brewery — each of which, by the way,
maintains an enthusiastic and expert
advertising department.
Just as Boston is a show place, so
should many of its factories be show
places. It is good advertising to have
them so. Nevertheless, comparatively
few manufacturers realize what a thirst
for knowledge there is in the minds of
the American people.
When, seven years ago, there was a
convention of teachers in Boston, and
the advertising manager of a well-
known shoe for women, without con-
sulting the head of his concern, caused
to be inserted in the Boston newspa-
pers an invitation for the teachers to
come down to Lynn the following day
and see how shoes are made, the act
was called audacious and unwise. The
idea that sensible school teachers would
spend half a summer day in visiting a
shoe factory when they might be at-
tending a matinee in an outdoor the-
ater, canoeing on the Charles, enjoying
a sail down the harbor or tracing the
route of Paul Revere was preposterous.
But scores of the teachers came to
Lynn, spent an hour or more in the
great factory, and departed for their
homes to tell pupils and friends of the
intricate processes and the infinite care
used in the making of these famous
shoes.
The teachers who went to Lynn
should have had an opportunity- to go
into the jewelry factories at Attleboro
and Providence, and they should have
been invited to visit the mills of New
Bedford to learn something about the
manufacture of "poplins, fancy shirt-
ings, soisettes, pongees, lawns, organ-
dies and batistes."
"It is pretty well understood by this
time," says a writer in the Boston Globe,
"that New Bedford leads all the cities
of the United States in the manufac-
ture of fine cotton goods, but the qual-
CO-OPERATING FOR ALL NEW ENGLAND
299
ity and variety of these goods is hardly
realized even in New Bedford."
The residents of this section know
as much about the fine cottons of New
Bedford, however, as they do about the
beautiful woolens and worsteds of Law-
rence; the world-girdling cottons of
Lowell and Fall River; the hundreds
of thousands of dollars' worth of jew-
elry manufactured in Attleboro and
Providence ; the shoes on the manufac-
ture of which Lynn and Brockton live,
or the leathers which have made Pea-
body a world leader in the trade. And
this is in face of the fact that within a
radius of fifty miles of the Boston State
House there exists the best market in
the world for these manufactures.
''Trademark these goods," says the ad-
vertising man, "and further dignify
them with a 'Made in New England'
stamp."
The Pilgrim Publicity Association is
urging all New England manufacturers
who are proud of their goods to label
them or the packages containing them,
"New England made," the purpose be-
ing to show the character and diver-
sity of New England manufactures, not
only to the people who live outside of
this section, but to the New Engend-
ers as well.
And this is not a sentimental sug-
gestion, but a matter of good business.
"Made in Germany" has helped to en-
able Germany to get control of the toy
business of America, and "Made in
Bridgeport" has undoubtedly aided in
making Bridgeport the fastest growing
Connecticut city. It's a timely proposi-
tion, too. For there is a well-defined
and growing sentiment in the West to
decry the merits ofYankee-madegoods.
Not only is this true in St. Louis, which
unblushingly calls itself "The Shoe
Capital of the Country," but in a great
'
A bit OF Bar Harbor shore
300
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
Winter recreations at a New England resort
many other cities in the West and
South. There the community spirit is
so strong that, other considerations be-
ing equal, the dealers favor the west-
ern manufacturers in buying ; and since
few New England manufacturers have
realized the far-sightedness of making*
a shoe which shall bear their own trade-
mark, it has not been hard to build up
an influence in favor of Western-made
shoes.
The advertising man wants the New
England manufacturer to discontinue
the practice of making cheap shoes at
the demand of the jobber and retailer,
to make only goods worthy of a trade-
mark, and to own that trademark so
that it may become, through advertis-
ing, a New England asset.
Mr. Henry G. Lord, publisher of the
Textile World Record, in an article in the
Boston Globe on April 3, 1910, said :
"Fabrics made in our mills find their
way to all parts of the world, and
many New England trademarks are as
well known in the far East as at home.
Many of these trademarks and brands
are in themselves worth thousands of
dollars to corporations which control
them."
If the manufacturers will take the
advice of the advertising man, it is
reasonable to prophesy that five years
from now, referring to the value of
New England textile trademarks, Mr.
Lord can accurately write "millions"
instead of "thousands."
The growth of the shoe industry in
the West bears down but little on the
Eastern makers who, through news-
paper and magazine advertising, have
established their trademarks as a guar-
antee of excellence. The ones who are
hurt are the manufacturers who have
been content to make an untrade-
marked shoe according to the specifi-
cations of the jobber, or who have al-
lowed the jobbers to own the trade-
marks which the conscientious manu-
facturer has made valuable.
Though it would take a fortune to
buy the rights to "W. L. Douglas,"
"Queen Quality," "Sorosis" or "Regal,"
as applied to shoes, the textile trade has
no equally valuable names, and New
England is the poorer to-day because
of this fact. For a well-established
trademark is a community asset.
Nor need it be confined to manu-
facturing. The agriculturist can build
up valuable names of similar import
to those trade names identified with
CO-OPERATING FOR AEL NEW ENGLAND
301
the shoe and leather, textile, jewelry
and other industries. For example, do
we not ask for "Florida oranges," "Col-
orado apples," "Rockyford melons,"
"Georgia peaches," "Vermont maple
sugar," "Cotuit" or "Blue Point oys-
ters"? Why, we not only ask for them,
but we are willing to pay extravagant
prices for these products, because
through various methods of advertis-
ing their names have become associ-
ated with superior quality.
Well, from Aroostook County, Me.,
come yearly ten to twenty million
bushels of potatoes of a quality which
only one other county in America can
produce. But how many housewives
ask the grocer for Aroostook potatoes?
Not one in ten thousand.
So the advertising man would have
the Aroostook County potato-growers
form some sort of an association and
advertise the reasons why Aroostook
County potatoes are the best in the
world. An intelligent advertising cam-
paign, such as the Pilgrim Publicity
Association would gladly work out,
would give the potato-grower a quick
market near home and at prices that
would prevent the sacrificing of first-
quality tubers at the starch factories.
As evidence that the writer is not in-
dulging in an idle fancy, but is getting
close to the real situation, he begs to
offer an editorial which has appeared,
since the foregoing was written, in the
leading farm paper of New England. The
quotation is from the New England
Homestead for the week ending April 9,
1910:
"The time is ripe for a big potato-
growers' exchange in Maine. There po-
tatoes predominate, and this is one of
the first requisites of a successful co-
operative association. It is commonly
reported that Maine potatoes were
given a black eye the past season,
owing to a few being sent out at the
start which were poor in quality. The
trade generally believed that all Maine
potatoes were bad and aimed to buy
elsewhere. If either Aroostook grow-
ers or those in Central Maine, center-
ing around Waterville, could have had
a strong association or exchange, the
trade throughout the country would
have been promptly advised as to the
THE I.URE OF THE NORTHLAND
502
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
exact conditions and the product guar-
anteed. It would have meant thou-
sands of dollars to Maine growers.
There is no good reason why a potato
exchange in Maine could not be prac-
tically as successful as the fruit-grow-
ers' associations on the Pacific coast.
There is no end of possibilities which
such an organization could realize upon
for farmers. Either Aroostook County
or Central Maine, or both, would form
a fine field for this co-operative ex-
change."
The plan proposed is applicable also
to the marketing of first-quality blue-
By combining and advertising, the
farmers will be able to deal directly
with the consumer and thus get a fair
margin of profit, instead of allowing
the middlemen to fatten at the expense
of both the consumer and the producer.
"The farmer," says Agricultural Sec-
retary F. D. Coburn of Kansas, "is the
only manufacturer on earth who is
given no voice as to what shall be the
price of his product. The man who
makes pins, pianos, breakfast foods or
battleships must be consulted as to the
price for which his output shall be mar-
keted and what he shall pay for his
purchases ; but the farmer, who feeds
View erom Saul's Hm,, Nantucket
berries, cranberries, apples, strawber-
ries, peaches and eggs ; and over the
inevitable improvement of business
methods all New England will have
reason to rejoice.
The same co-operation that has
solved the problems incidental to the
national sale of the oranges, lemons
and grapefruit of California, the apples
of Washington and Oregon and the
grain of the Middle Western States is
needed here in the East for the eco-
nomical marketing of our agricultural
products.
all and clothes all, is so unheeded and
mute at both ends of a transaction that
in comparison the proverbial oyster
would seem boisterously loquacious."
If 350 men in the advertising busi-
ness, that exemplification of sharp, al-
most merciless competition,' can pull
together as they undoubtedly do in the
Pilgrim Publicity Association for the
advancement of the business interests
of all New England, any local group of
producers whose interests are affiliated
can organize for mutual help. With
such an organization the advertising
CO-OPERATING FOR ALL NEW ENGLAND
303
man will co-operate just as enthusiasti-
cally as with any similar organization
of manufacturers. For better condi-
tions among the farmers will make a
more prosperous New England.
Now, having shown the manufac-
turer and the farmer how to add mil-
lions to their incomes, to whom shall
the advertising man next proffer his
gratuitous and unsolicited advice?
He will turn to those who earn the
lion's share of the $60,000,000 left in
New England each year by the hun-
dreds of thousands who visit its his-
toric towns, its mountains, seashores,
lakes, rivers, recreation parks, trout
streams and game preserves to make
living more joyous.
If ever a business cried aloud for a
pooling of interests, it is the summer-
resort business in New England.
Through intelligent combination, such
as is typical of the hotel men of At-
lantic City, among whom Atlantic City
is first and the hotels a second consid-
eration, the enormous amount of money
spent in the New England States
every year by visitors could easily be
doubled.
Advertising and the co-operative
spirit have made Atlantic City one of
the most famous and wealthy ocean re-
sorts in the whole world, and have en-
abled that far less attractive resort to
draw hundreds of thousands of visitors
away from beautiful Bar Harbor and
picturesque Nantucket, to mention
only two of the thousands of New Eng-
land seashore resorts whom nature has
endowed with her most magnificent
gifts.
Our summer hotel men say that what
they need is a longer season. But they
will never get it by sitting down and
wishing for it. The way to add weeks
and months to the season of production
for this business is through a co-opera-
tive advertising campaign, which shall
tell the people what glorious months
June and October are at the seashore
and in the woods. There are half a
dozen big hotels in Maine and New
Hampshire, such as the Mansion House
at South Poland, the Woodstock Inn
at Woodstock, the Fitzwilliam Tavern
at Fitzwilliam, that have their accom-
modations engaged weeks in advance
by guests who wish to spend the week
of Washington's Birthday in rest and
outdoor recreation.
Last winter, for the first time, a
Maine hotel proprietor did a little ad-
vertising to tell the people of Boston
something of the delights of the Maine
woods and the snow-cushioned country
roads at the time of the great Christ-
mas storm. This big hotel, almost
snow-bound and situated four miles
from a railroad station, was filled with
yule-tide visitors ; and many other coun-
try hotels could have been filled at the
same time if the respective managers
had joined together to urge the tired
city residents to take to the woods.
Among the proprietors of the great
hotels of New England are some of
the most skilful business organizers in
America. Is there not one who can
find the time to formulate such a co-
operative campaign as the writer has
attempted merely to suggest?
The activity of the fish interests of
Gloucester in behalf of the summer ho-
tels ; the encouraging of local farmers
to take part in the work of the Com-
mercial Club of Rockland, Mass. ; the
great agricultural banquet of the Bos-
ton Chamber of Commerce and the ag-
ricultural rally in Springfield, Mass.,
under the auspices of the Springfield
Board of Trade, are recent instances of
the co-operative spirit now developing.
Let each group organize for the ben-
efit of its own members and endeavor
to safeguard its own interests first.
Then let it find, as it surely will, that
success depends on the welfare of other
groups representing various interests,
and soon we shall see a master group
of the leaders from the several circles
working like one great mind to formu-
late a campaign for the continuous ad-
vancement of prosperity for all New
England.
Doctor Bestor's Atonement
By MARGARET PRESTON LYNNBROOK
THE morning express was push-
ing back the rails at the rate of
sixty miles an hour when the ac-
cident occurred. The up train had just
taken the siding, the switch had not
been properly turned, and a moment
later the crash of the flying express
produced a scene of destruction. Forty
passengers were killed. Sixty more
were bruised and broken — some be-
yond hope of recovery, some only
slightly. As soon as the wreckage
could be cleared away the wounded
were placed on such improvised
stretchers as could be quickly made;
and within two hours the hospital car
sent up from Philadelphia was hasten-
ing them to the hospitals in that city.
The wounded were a motley group —
some well dressed, intelligent; others
shabbily clothed and illiterate. Sev-
eral times during the next few days
coffins were carried out from the hos-
pital doors. Most of the wounded had
relatives who came to see them, and
most of the dead were taken away by
their families. A few were unknown.
In three weeks nearly all had gone
out again — some to their graves, some
to a maimed existence, some to health
and work. Only two remained, both of
whom were most interesting cases to
the hospital authorities. One, a sturdy
Irishman, had been brought in, clothed
in workingman's garments. His face
was seamed with the struggle of life.
It was a hard face, with lines of dis-
honor as well as of hardship. A savage
knife had been found in his waistcoat.
His delirious ramblings were mingled
with oaths and vile slang. His head
had met some terrible blow in the
wreck which had injured his brain. The
doctor thought at first that he could
not live more than a few days. Now,
304
he believed, he would live a hopeless
idiot.
The other patient was, from all ap-
pearances, a gentleman of culture. His
face was clear-cut and finely chiseled.
He was quiet mostly, through suffer-
ing, but when he spoke it was in the
most perfect and polished English.
Pie had received internal injuries which
made his recovery extremely doubtful;
still he lingered. Now and then his
eyes rested upon the face of the other
patient as if in study. No relatives had
been located for either of the men. The
Irishman had nothing about him from
which even his name could be learned,
and he had been too delirious to tell it
ever since he came to the hospital. In
the pocket of the other man was found
a purse containing this card: "My
name is Richard Farmington. If I die,
you will find in this purse enough
money to bury me. I have no rela-
tives."
Now, Dr. Bestor conceived the idea
(in case Mr. Farmington should die,
which seemed almost certain to occur)
of removing his brain immediately to
the brain cavity of the Irishman. This
would give the Irishman not only a
sound brain, but a brain greatly su-
perior in intellect to the one he lost.
Such an operation as this would re-
quire the utmost quickness; for the
brain, according to the. proofs at the
Rockefeller Institute, cannot be made
to live more than thirty minutes after
the flight of the spirit. All prepara-
tions were therefore made. Every tool
and bandage needed was placed in a
case and brought into the ward. There
would be no time to move the patients
to another room. Two operating tables
were placed just outside the door.
Two days before Mr. Farmington's
DOCTOR BESTOR'S ATONEMENT
305
death he was most closely watched.
Dr. Bestor and his four assistants did
not undress during that time, but slept
in a small adjoining room, ready to be
called in an instant. About nine o'clock
on the evening of the second day of
watching, one of the attendant nurses
called Dr. Bestor and his assistants.
They came at once to Mr. Farmington's
bedside. His breath came weakly, at
long intervals. The whiteness of death
had settled on his face. In the adjoin-
ing bed lay the Irishman, asleep. There
was plainly no time to be spared. Two
of the assistants began to administer
the anaesthetic to the Irishman, and
just as he was under its influence Mr.
Farmington's last breath stopped short.
Dr. Bestor, with his hands on his pulse,
pronounced him dead.
Quickly and silently the two tables
were brought in ; the two men were
lifted onto them ; the case of tools and
bandages was opened, and Dr. Bestor
and his first assistant were swiftly
wielding their small bone saws on the
skulls of the two men. At the end of
fifteen minutes the brain of Mr. Farm-
ington was safely tucked into the cra-
nium of the Irishman and the "medulla
oblongata" joined, as well the nerves
of the special senses. The blood ves-
sels supplying the brain were joined,
and the feeble heart, controlled only
by reflex centers and strengthened by
stimulants injected into the veins, be-
gan to pump blood into the new brain.
The bony covering was then placed
over and the skin stitched carefully
around the crown.
For several days the Irishman lay
unconscious, but the heart beat
stronger and surer, the breath came
more regularly, and there were strange,
aimless movements of the limbs. Evi-
dently the new brain had not grown
into connection with the nervous sys-
tem enough to control motion or to
manifest itself through the special
senses. A strong light brought to the
man's face made no impression on the
half-open eyes. The optic nerves had
not made good their connection. At
the end of a week the man began to
reach for things in an uncertain way,
as a baby begins to reach. He turned
his eyes a little now and then, as if he
saw something dimly. At an unusual
noise lie moved slightly, as if the or-
gans of hearing were beginning to be
of use. At the end of another week he
could both see and hear and had taken
some food. He could speak also, but
not distinctly. He sat up in bed and
seemed interested in what was going
on around him. A week later he could
talk very well and his speech was an
interesting study. The thoughts were
evidently those of the late Mr. Farm-
ington — cultured, definite, refined ; but
the expression was that of the Irish la-
borer — careless, guttural, harsh. A
strange, pained, surprised look passed
over his face at the sound of his own
voice. Sometimes his eyes would light
up with a gleam of intelligent interest,
but when he spoke he felt humiliated
and ashamed. What had become of
the gentle, well-modulated voice and
perfectly clear and assured enuncia-
tion?
A few days later he asked for a mir-
ror. When he looked into it an expres-
sion of mingled fear and loathing came
over his face.
"What is the matter, Mr. Farming-
ton?" asked the nurse (for it had been
agreed to try calling him by that
name).
"Only a sick man's fancy, I suppose,"
he said, wearily. "I fancied I saw the
face of a man whom I had some cause
to fear on the train the day of the
wreck. Only a sick man's fancy," he
repeated, as if trying to assure himself.
"Tell me about the man you feared,"
said the nurse. "Many of the injured
were brought here to the hospital ; per-
haps he may have been among them;
perhaps he is dead."
The man seemed trying to think:
"He was an Irishman, I think — rough
— a miner — partly drunk — I thought he
was watching me — I caught the gleam
of a weapon under his coat — I had
spoken on the strike condition at Buf-
falo the day before — I think he must
have been a striker — probably an an-
archist — Yes !" and a new light of mem-
ory stole over his face, "he did come to
306
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
this hospital; he had the bed next to
mine !"
He clasped his hands over his eyes
and knit his brow as if in deep mental
struggle. He raised his head with a
bewildered look.
''There seems a gap in my memory,"
he said. "I believe I must have been
unconscious for a time."
"Yes, you were," said the nurse;
"and during that time the Irishman
died."
"I remember more distinctly now,"
he went on. "I thought I was dying.
There was the gentle drifting away of
all sensation. There was the loss of all
sense of time and place and existence.
Then, gradually, an increasing fulness
of consciousness, an exuberant buoy-
ancy of spirit, a joy I had never known
before of soul expansion. Thereseemed
no limit to my joy, no limit to the pos-
sibilities of my soul. Thoughts so large
and splendid that now I can only dimly
remember theirsplendor,swept through
my soul, as the wind plays through an
Aeolian harp, and wrought the di-
vinest melodies in me."
The nurse forgot the stammering
words and thought only of the beauty
of the man's soul. Dr. Bestor, coming
in just then, caught the last words.
"What do you remember of your re-
turn to consciousness?" he asked, com-
ing to the bedside.
"It was like being born again, only
the consciousness came more rapidly.
What the child learns in all the years
to manhood came to me, without learn-
ing, during the time I was returning
to consciousness. How long was it,
doctor?"
"Three weeks."
That night Dr. Bestor could not
sleep for thinking of his patient. The
man's talk of death had given him a
strange unrest. Was it Richard Farm-
ington or the Irishman who still lived?
Some one had died. Richard Farming-
ton's body had been buried in the cem-
etery. His soul had entered the realms
of rest — but had it returned to inhabit
the unsightly Irish body? What right
had he, Dr. Bestor, to call a soul back
from its God to another tenement of
clay? Where was the Irishman's soul?
His body was still animated. What
right had Dr. Bestor to cast any soul,
however worthless, out of its tenement
of clay? He had thought to do the
Irishman a kindness by giving him a
better brain than he had ever had be-
fore. Was it only the worthless body
he had benefited? Had his zeal for sci-
entific investigation and experiment led
him unwittingly to experiment with
souls?
Already the news of his wonderful
experiment had spread through the sci-
entific world. He had spoken of it him-
self in enthusiastic terms to several
journalists. His name was flashed from
coast to coast as the leading scientist —
the master physician of his day. Now,
in his quiet chamber, the consciousness
of the awful thing he had done came
over him like an Egyptian darkness —
an oppressive weight of gloom — a hor-
ror of having walked into the sacred
shrines of creation where souls are
made, and of having thereby forfeited
his right to his own soul.
After this the doctor became very si-
lent about his late success. When ques-
tioned about it he seemed only half-
interested. The journalists were disap-
pointed in not being able to get any-
thing definite for the magazines. Little
did they guess the torture to which
they were subjecting the physician.
The other physicians of the hospital
tried to draw him out. He seemed so
silent and sad that they thought he
must be in trouble. They tried to help
him forget it, or, at least, get above it,
by renewing his interest in scientific
research. They spoke in glowing terms
of the remarkable case that was now
the talk of the people. They laughingly
jested about the "Irish Mr. Farming-
ton." But each word probed deeper
into the writhing conscience of the
physician.
Dr. Bestor now spent as much time
as he could spare from other duties at
the bedside of his patient. He told the
nurse he wished to study the case. He
vaguely felt that perhaps he might
learn something from the sick man's
words that would absolve him. He
DOCTOR BESTOR'S ATONEMENT
307
V ' -- - • ■
Drawn by L. T. Hammond
"NOW AND THEN HIS EYES RESTED ON THE OTHER FEI^OW
hoped to find, behind and within, the
real personality of the Irishman clothed
in the larger and better gifts of Rich-
ard Farmington. He tried to gain the
man's confidence — to get him to talk
of his inner life — and* in this he was
successful ; and it became more and
more evident to Dr. Bestor that Rich-
ard Farmington was not wandering the
Elysian fields, but was indeed dwelling
in and governing the body of the Irish-
man. Be it understood, then, that the
Irishman, and not Richard Farmington,
is dead. Henceforth we shall speak of
the living man, soul and body, as Rich-
ard Farmington.
As the patient grew more convales-
cent and walked about his ward, Dr.
Bestor still continued to spend much
time with him. He was filled with a
strong desire to atone in some way for
what he had done. To the Irishman
308
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
he could never atone. He was irrevo-
cably lost. But for Mr. Farmington
the doctor felt that he would give his
life if he might only undo that brilliant,
awful deed.
There was, indeed, much of common
interest between the two men. They
were congenial natures ; and this con-
geniality, fostered by the grateful at-
titude of Mr. Farmington for his re-
covery and the deep interest of Dr.
Bestor, developed into a confidential
comradeship. When Mr. Farmington
was able to go out, Dr. Bestor took
him to his own rooms until he should
grow stronger. They lunched together,
walked together, and, in fact, spent all
of the doctor's unoccupied time in each
other's company.
The present Mr. Farmington wore
the same suit of clothes in which the
late Mr. Farmington had been brought
to the hospital. Even the purse con-
taining its card of instructions was the
same, and the money was still there.
Dr. Bestor himself had defrayed the fu-
neral expenses.
Richard Farmington's humiliation in
regard to his voice and his appearance
continued, and rather increased than
subsided. He became so sensitive about
it that he would scarcely use a mirror
even to tie his cravat. Sometimes he
began a sentence and then stopped it
short, grieved and shocked at his own
Irish brogue. Dr. Bestor saw all this
and understood it. What could he do
to help this unfortunate man out of the
difficulties he had brought upon him?
At first, Mr. Farmington said noth-
ing of his feeling on the subject; but
one day, when they were talking of his
recovery, he said :
"Doctor, how do you account for the
change in my appearance since my in-
jury? My face in the mirror bears no
resemblance to the one I am accus-
tomed to see there. My voice, too, is
changed, and my pronunciation. I used
to speak fair English ; now I speak an
inferior Irish. How can I take up my
work again with a voice like this? My
clothes do not fit me. I am two inches
shorter than I used to be; I measured
myself yesterday when you were at the
hospital. My hands are not the same,
either. The hands I had were well
shaped and unscarred. These look like
day laborer's hands — short, stubby, cal-
lous. Even the color of my eyes is
changed. Once they were brown ; now
they are a meaningless gray. My hair
was black and fine and wavy; this is
coarse and light. I find, too, that I have
not the same muscular control I had
before the injury. I was interested in
physical culture and could do some fancy
stunts in the gymnasium. Yesterday
I could not do the simplest movements
creditably. Do you know, doctor," he
said, "I feel as if I had gotten into some
other man's body and don't know just
how to run the machinery. I never
used to carry my hands' in my pocket;
now I can scarcely keep them out. I
never used to drag my feet when I
walked ; now I can scarcely make them
clear the ground."
All this time the doctor listened,
stunned and disheartened. He had
watched Richard Farmington's uneasi-
ness with increasing solicitude; but he
had not looked for so plain a state-
ment of the case from the one man who
was supposed to know nothing of it.
Should he confess the truth, or should
he try to help the man over his diffi-
culties without telling him? As for
himself, he felt that he could endure
any reproach — even the lasting hatred
of the man he longed to serve — if that
would in any way atone for what he
had done. He must, at any rate, gain
a little time to think it over.
"Illness has many strange ways of
treating us," said Dr. Bestor, "and
never leaves us the same as it found
us. Sometimes the change is so slight
as to be scarcely noticed; sometimes
marked, as in your case; sometimes
only temporary; sometimes permanent.
There are always, sleeping within us,
many inherited traits that never come
to the front because they are over-
come and kept in the background by
the more dominant traits. Now, if ill-
ness should in some way destroy the
dominant traits, the underlying quali-
ties would manifest themselves. You
are, perhaps, descended from an Irish
DOCTOR BESTOR'S ATONEMENT
309
ancestor whose traits have been carried
down the line underneath, but never
extinct."
Mr. Farmington was not entirely sat-
isfied, but had no doubt that the
doctor had given him the best ex-
planation he knew.
That evening Dr. Bestor had some
important work at the hospital. He
did not ask Richard Farmington to go
with him, lest the latter should learn
the truth about himself. Mr. Farm-
ington, on the other hand, was glad
that the doctor did not ask him to go,
for he shrank from meeting people. He
felt conscious of his face and hands
and voice. He felt awkward in this
new, insubordinate bodv.
For a while he lost himself in Dr.
Bestor's library. There he found the
new book on sociology by Professor
Brown. He had been reading that book
on the train the day of the accident.
Now he settled down to pick up the
dropped thread and was soon lost in
his favorite subject. The clock on the
mantel struck ten before he again
thought of his surroundings. He started
up and wondered why the doctor had
not returned, but the book was so in-
teresting that he read on to the end of
the chapter. Then, leaning back in his
chair, he let his thoughts ramble on
from the theme in the book to the
theme of his work and his life — not his
present life (he had forgotten that), but
the life before the wreck. He thought
of the lecture at Buffalo on the strike
problem; of his coming to Buffalo the
day before in company with the mayor
of that city, whom he had met in Chi-
cago, and who had invited him to come
and deliver his lecture. Then, run-
ning backward in his mind, he thought
of his work as professor of sociology
and political economy at the Eeland
Stanford University; of his previous
work there; then of the terrible catas-
trophe at San Francisco, when the
earthquake had come with its relent-
less hand and wrenched away all that
he held most dear— his beautiful wife,
his baby, his parents — after which he
had taken up his professorship at Ice-
land Stanford. He remembered the
wild grief of those first days after the
earthquake, then the despondency, and
after that the new purpose that had
come to him, born of the indomitable
courage and earnest make-up of the
man, to yet take up his life and make
it grand.
Again the clock on the mantel struck.
Again Richard Farmington came to
himself, wondered at the doctor's late
absence, and got up to stroll about the
room. He felt thirsty and went to the
next room for a drink — the water was
insipid, tasteless. He had a craving he
had never felt before for something
stronger. Richard Farmington had
been a temperate man. He had tasted
whiskey only once, in case of severe
illness, and yet he felt now that his
craving was for that. He took an-
other drink of water. It was more in-
sipid than ever. His craving became
so strong that it was only by the force
of his masterly will that he could keep
himself from searching in the doctor's
cabinet for .something alcoholic. He
determinedly sat down to his reading
again. It had lost all interest. He
tried to think of his beautiful, young
wife and the laughing, bright-eyed
baby, but the insatiate thirst dragged
him away from the fair vision. He
thought of his work, of the spotless
honor of his life, and still that craving
gripped him with even crueller tension
and shook him in its frenzy till he. al-
most despaired. Again he got the up-
per hand. Again he stood in the in-
vincible power of a clean and upright
man. Again he grappled with the de-
mon — grappled till the drops stood out
on his forehead, and his hands were
clenched till the nails sank into the
flesh, and his eyes were wild with the
fury of the strife. At this moment Dr.
Bestor came in.
A new pang of apprehension and fear
seized the doctor as he looked upon the
frenzied face of his friend and patient.
He feared that the strangeness of Mr.
Farmington's position had begun to
prey upon his mind, and that the agon-
ized expression on his face was one
of insane raving. Walking over to
Richard Farmington, the doctor laid
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NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
his hand upon his shoulder and said
kindly: "My friend, you seem to be in
trouble."
Thereupon Richard Farmington, his
nerves wrung by the strain of the strug-
gle with the demon of drink, overcome
with mortification and self-disappoint-
ment, tortured with fear of the terrible
power that had so nearly overwhelmed
him, buried his face in his hands and
burst into tears. It was some time be-
fore he became calm enough to reply
to the doctor. At last, however, he got
control of himself.
"Oh, doctor !" he said ; "you cannot
imagine the extent to which my illness
has changed me." The doctor writhed.
"The things I prized most in my life,
outside soul growth, have slipped away
from me. The culture and refinement
of manner, the scrupulous temperance
of my habits, which I regarded supple-
mentary to the best soul growth —
where are they now? Oh, doctor! can
you not do something to help me in this
fight? I have had my first struggle
with a thirst for alcohol, and I had
rather die than go through it again !"
Dr. Bestor had no reply. What hu-
man word of comfort or assurance could
reach so deep a trouble? He sat down
and the two remained silent for a long
time. He had not foreseen this. In his
office at the hospital he had thought
the matter over carefully after his work
was done. He thought that he had
looked at it from every point of view,
and he had decided that Richard Farm-
ington must know the truth. He had
been willing to face the reproach, the
hatred, perhaps the anger and revenge
of the man he had wronged. He felt
that he deserved any reward Mr. Farm-
ington might be pleased to measure
out to him. The doctor reasoned that
in his present condition Richard Farm-
ington must necessarily think much
about the change which had taken
place, and that in all probability such
continued thinking would result in in-
sanity. On the other hand, he felt that
if Mr. Farmington knew the truth he
could better adjust himself to the
change and overcome the difficulties
of his position, and in time so subor-
dinate and permeate the new body by
the force of his splendid personality
that he might yet be a powerful influ-
ence for good. The doctor knew, too,
that the papers were still publishing the
successful experiment, and that in
all probability Mr. Farmington would
learn the truth sooner or later, and per-
haps in a more distorted fashion than
if he should receive it from the doctor.
All these conclusions Dr. Bestor had
reached in his office that evening, and
had come home with the determination
to explain the whole case to his pa-
tient. Now the enormity of his deed
came over him with increased force in
the light of the new struggle, and he
faltered. At any rate, he argued, Mr.
Farmington was in no condition to
hear. his explanation to-night; he would
leave it till morning.
The struggle with the drink fiend
was over for the time, and Richard
Farmington, having regained his com-
posure and self-possession, bade the
doctor "good-night" and went to bed.
But the struggle was not yet over for
the doctor. He sat staring helplessly
before him for a long time after Rich-
ard Farmington had left him, trying to
collect his thoughts, trying to get some
illuminating idea that would solve the
problem. At first he was overwhelmed
with the weight of his fateful deed. All
its terrible consequences loomed up be-
fore him: A human soul robbed of the
eternal rest into which it had already
entered, and not only that, but plunged
back into a tenfold harder existence
than it had known before — a soul that
had conquered the temptations and ills
of one lifetime; that had marched vic-
torious through discouragement and
pain; that had achieved the purpose of
its existence in attaining the God-like
in itself and performing the God-like
in its service to others ; such a soul
having reached the fulness of its de-
velopment at the gates of death, and
having swept majestically into the in-
finite consciousness of eternal truth,
had been rudely beckoned back by pro-
fane hands, had been chained to an-
other earthly existence, shorn of its
beatific visions, cramped, crumpled,
DOCTOR BESTOR'S ATONEMENT
311
desecrated, in an unworthy fleshly
house; and he, Dr. Bestor, had been the
agent of all this ! What sacrifice was
too great to make for the man he had so
deeply wronged ? And yet, what could
he do?
Then the illuminating idea came,
with a bewildering splendor that al-
most overwhelmed the doctor, to de-
vote the rest of his life to the service
of this man ; to attend him, to help him
overcome the difficulties, to shield him
against the temptations to which he
would be most susceptible, until his
spirit should triumph over all and make
him once more a strong, sure man.
When this thought first came to Dr.
Bestor his heart leaped with a great
throb of relief and joy that he could do
something, and in his first unselfish en-
thusiasm he hurried gladly on from
plan to plan of how he and Mr. Farm-
ington would leave Philadelphia ; would
travel for a while to take the unfortu-
nate man's thoughts from himself ; how
the doctor would be always near to
help in difficult times ; how they would
together take up some work congenial
to both, until at last God would call
Richard Farmington to the rest he had
twice earned; and the doctor did not
doubt he would be doubly crowned, and
hoped that he himself might by such a
life blot out the sin of that one fatal
mistake.
But Dr. Bestor, as is often the case
with enthusiastic natures, was liable to
reverses of enthusiasm. If he acted at
once on any impulse, the tidal wave of
the impulse would carry him through;
but if he had time to consider, there
was likely to be an ebb tide, in which
the rocks and difficulties of any under-
taking were laid bare. In the case of
the operation the ebb tide had not set
in until it was too late to change his
course, and he was now left to beat his
way among the rocks. In his present
plans for himself and Mr. Farmington,
however, the ebb tide set in quickly,
and drew back the full volume of the
wave with sickening suction.
He thought of his place in the medi-
cal world ; of the remarkable success of
his experiments at the Rockefeller In-
stitute; of the invaluable service he
was rendering in Philadelphia. Was it
right, he questioned, to throw away
those talents with which God had espe-
cially endowed him? Would he be
Counted guiltless if he withheld from a
suffering world the gifts that he had
received? Had not his purpose been
pure and unselfish in performing the
operation that had cost him so much
woe? Was he required to suffer self-
inflicted punishment for a deed which
he had done in an honest and earnest
effort to uplift and benefit and save a
degraded son of Adam? Mr. Farming-
ton had a strong, upright and coura-
geous personality that no doubt would
triumph over all the difficulties of his
situation. What assurance had the
doctor, if he should sincerely devote
his life to the help of this man, that he
would not make another fatal error and
plunge Richard Farmington and him-
self yet deeper into the maze?
So inviting did this line of thought
become that the doctor began to dream
again the dream of his success. The
lure of fame, the glory and splendor of
achievement in the work he loved, drew
him on. He heard again the congratu-
latory words of his comrades — the un-
qualified admiration and wonder of the
public. For the moment he forgot
Richard Farmington entirely. Suddenly
the Irish face appeared to his fancy.
The splendid structure of his dream
crumbled before that apparition. What
would it profit him to gain the utmost
in his profession if each success should
bring him such woe as had followed his
last most brilliant achievement?
Dr. Bestor now subjected himself to
a most severe self-examination — an ex-
amination of motives running back to
his college days. What had induced
him to study medicine? Was it a holy
desire to help humanity, or was it the
gratification of a selfish delight in scien-
tific research? What had led him on
from success to success but the siren
song of Fame? What was the inmost
motive of his heart in performing the
fateful operation? Did he not foresee
the commendation of all the medical
profession — the astonishment and de-
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NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
light of all intelligent people? Honestly
and humbly he made answer to his
questioning soul that all his motives
had been selfish, Again the vision of
lifelong devoted service to Richard
Farmington came before him, and his
suffering soul eagerly seized the oppor-
tunity for atonement.
.He kept his eyes steadfastly on that
purpose. Again and again, during the
silent hours of that sleepless night, the
strong passion for his profession swept
over him. Again and again the power
of his firm resolve carried him through
victorious. He closed his ears to the
applauding voices of the multitude,
when those voices were to him the mel-
ody of time. He closed his eyes to the
sight of his beloved instruments — the
familiar scenes of the laboratory and
the ward, when those scenes were to
him as the faces of friends most dear.
He withdrew his hands from the relief
of suffering and skilful manipulation
of each shining instrument, when such
activities were to him as the rich, red
blood in his arteries. And what was
left? — for his ears, silence! for his eyes,
darkness ! for his hands, idleness ! Like
Browning's "Saul," he stood in that
blank space between hopeand despair —
"Death was gone — life not come."
Having once resolved, however, he
would not turn back ; and, gradually, as
he held his purpose close, it began to
glow and warm again with the beauti-
ful colors it had worn when first it
came to him, and morning found the
doctor's struggle over and the victory
won.
When Richard Farmington appeared
in the morning his face still bore traces
of the severe test he had undergone the
night before. There was an almost im-
perceptible and indefinable softening
of the hard lines of the Irish face — a
chastened expression that touched a
sympathetic chord in Dr. Bestor's
heart and gave him courage for his
confession.
He began his explanation at once,
knowing it unsafe to let his generous
impulse subside. Carefully and logi-
cally he brought out the details, con-
cealing nothing of his own motives and
responsibility except the last resolve
concerning the future. As he talked he
watched attentively the changes in
Richard Farmington's face. First, there
was a look of interest as the doctor told
of the wreck and the two cases at the
hospital. Then an expression of be-
wilderment as he began to talk of the
nature of the two cases and the pro-
posed operation. As the narrative pro-
gressed the expression darkened, the
eyes gave forth a menacing, lurid glow ;
the whole face began to reinforce the
expression of brute ferocity and demon-
like hatred. Still the doctor went
bravely on, concluding with these
words :
"And now, Richard Farmington, you
have my story. A sad one it is for me
and a grievous one for you. I do not
ask your mercy or consideration. I own
nothing — not even my life — that I
would not give to undo that one half-
hour's work. I only pray you will let
me do what little I can to help you
overcome the obstacles I have put in
your way. May God forgive me and
help us both !"
Richard Farmington uttered an an-
gry Irish oath ; the Irish fist tightened ;
the Irish eyes darted dangerous fire;
and the hand, by a quick movement,
sought the waistcoat pocket where the
Irishman's knife had been.
The doctor believed the angry man
would spring upon him in a moment.
But- — where was the knife? The hand
found it not — the face was bewildered
— and instantly Richard Farmington
covered his face with his hands in an
agony of realization and mortification.
He remained in this position a long
while, apparently thinking. What was
going on in the mind of this strong,
tried man? How could Dr. Bestor help
him in his deep inner struggles against
the environment of his own unruly
body ?
The reflex centers controling many
motions and appetites had acquired
their power from the will or indul-
gence of the Irishman, and the muscu-
lar contractions resulting from them
DOCTOR BESTOR'S ATONEMFNT
313
reacted upon the brain of Richard
Farmington. Thus, when the ear re-
ceived Dr. Bestor's words and conveyed
them to the brain, the brain admitted,
"I am wronged." Through the mys-
terious action of the nervous system the
reflex centers took up the suggestion
and gave the muscles their usual style
of order in case of wrong, so the facial
muscles contracted and the hand flew
for the avenging weapon. These physi-
cal manifestations of rage, in turn,
working upon the brain, produced there
a condition of actual, intense anger —
an emotion the intensity of which Rich-
ard Farmington had never experienced
before in his life, and in his later sub-
dued and temperate years had scarcely
known at all. What must have been
his dismay, then, to find this ugly
hatred in a heart once made fit to enter
the kingdom of rest?
"Forgive me, doctor !" at last came
the broken voice of Richard Farming-
ton. "I never before experienced such
an outburst of unreasoning rage. I beg
you will not think this is a portrayal of
my real feeling toward you. Can I so
soon forget the sacrifice and the devo-
tion you have shown me during my
convalescence and since my recovery?
As for the operation, you did what any
physician with your skill would have
done. You wrong yourself in believing
your motives selfish. This idea is the
result of your over-wrought conscience
and your intense and morbid introspec-
tion. You must not allow one deed
which you consider a mistake to cast
a shadow over all your later efforts. No
truly great benefit is gained for the race
without some corresponding cost. God
only knows whether that deed was
really a mistake. It has, of course, cost
me a few years of the eternal fulness
of life, according to our human reckon-
ing; but when I have again passed from
the limited into the infinite, where 'a
thousand years are but as yesterday
when it is past and as a watch in the
night,' what will it matter? And per-
haps out of this achievement of yours
there may develop to the race untold
good in years to come."
The word "achievement" fell on the
doctor's ears like the sweet melody of
a half-forgotten song — but only for an
instant. He knew that this brave, true
soul before him, though breathing out
the very breath of the celestial realms
in which it had spent so short a time,
yet would encounter many difficulties
in which it would need help before it
could again pass from "the limited into
the infinite." Dr. Bestor had seen his
duty ; he would follow it.
In devoting himself, however, to the
service of Richard Farmington it was
necessary that he do it without allow-
ing his purpose to be known, for he was
certain that Richard Farmington would
never listen to an offer of any sacrifice
on his account. A few days later, when
Mr. Farmington mentioned the neces-
sity of going back to San Francisco to
look after some business affairs, the
doctor said he was planning a visit to
his married sister, who lived there, and
thought he could arrange to leave then
as well as any time, and would accom-
pany Mr. Farmington if the latter did
not object. And so it was arranged
that they should go the next week.
During the days which followed, the
doctor quietly arrange his business so
that he could be away for an indefinite
period. He would leave his resigna-
tion at the hospital till the last day,
only asking now for leave of absence ;
then he would go away before the sur-
prise became general. But there was
another matter which he need not leave
till the last day ; though he did leave it
two or three days to gain courage and
calm for what he feared would be a
trying interview.
.For a year now he had been a friend
and constant attendant of Miss Bernice
Parke, daughter of Gordon Parke, one
of the leading attorneys of the city.
Miss Parke was a charming society girl
of twenty-five; wealthy, beautiful and
much courted. Of all her suitors, Dr.
Bestor had gained most favor, and his
late achievements in his profession had
placed him in a position, as he believed,
to win her hand. Her friends and fam-
ily looked upon him with approval, and
all seemed promising for the famous
surgeon on the eve of the operation
314
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
upon Richard Farmington. Since that
time, however, though he had seen her
several times, they had talked upon top-
ics of general interest only. The doctor
wished to gather himself together a
little before the momentous word. Now
he knew that he must go to her, tell her
of his decision to give up his profes-
sion, try to make her understand the
call his soul had heard, and then —
what? Well, he would see.
As he walked up the three squares
that lay between his residence and hers,
on the fourth evening before his de-
parture for San Francisco, his thoughts
were not of Richard Farmington, who
had been so constantly in his mind for
the last six weeks ; nor of his beloved
profession, the giving up of which had
cost him such a struggle; for Philip
Bestor — the man — though the victim of
gnawing remorse for one sad, hospital
deed, and a devout worshipper at the
shrine of science, was first of all a lover.
Though our view of him in the intense
trial of the past six weeks has not
shown this, yet underneath the stormy
surface there lay a quiet depth of emo-
tion and tenderness, lost sight of, it
may be, even by himself for brief pe-
riods during the storm, yet always
there — strong, true and powerful. This
was not merely an innate attitude of ab-
stract devotion — it was a definite, con-
crete, soul-sweeping devotion for one
fair woman, Bernice Parke.
And so, as he walked the three
squares between his home and hers, his
thoughts were all of her. How they
ran before him like eager children to
greet her before his orderly feet could
go half-way! How they laughed and
danced and clapped their hands about
him — these lover thoughts of his — and
merrily chattered of her, always of her !
"She is beautiful ! She is beautiful 1"
they said again and again.
"Her eyes are deep and blue! — deep
and blue — deep and blue!" sang all the
happy elfish things.
"And she is kind and good I" they
came and whispered in his ears.
And so this troubled man forgot his
trouble and walked in paradise a little
way.
Bernice met him with her usual
genial smile, and led the way into the
drawing-room. The jolly thoughts
danced gleefuly about in riotous de-
light, but soon the beautiful queen
thought of love, sitting upon her throne
in Philip Bestor's heart, looked down
upon her reveling little subjects who
paid homage to their queen and were
silent. And while Dr. Bestor sat .calmly
exchanging commonplaces with Ber-
nice Parke, his heart was full of the
rapturous splendor of love. But well he
knew that before he should disclose
that radiance to her he must tell her all
the turmoil of these six weeks and its
ultimate effect upon his career — and a
sad, tall figure came and stood before
the love queen's throne and a tremor of
pain ran over her beautiful face. And
so Dr. Bestor told to Bernice Parke the
same sad story he had told to Richard
Farmington.
She listened a trifle wearily to his
story. She had never taken much in-
terest in the details of his profession,
proud as she was to have him famous
in it; and he seldom tired her by talk-
ing of the things that meant life and
work to him. Something, however, in
the sad solemnity of his manner to-
night made her feel that all this must
be freighted with unusual significance,
and when he reached the giving up of
his work she was no longer indiffer-
ent. Earnestly he talked of his obli-
gation to Richard Farmington,. trying
to make her feel, as he felt, that the
path he had chosen was the only path
of honor for him.
"Don't you think you are over-sensi-
tive, Dr. Bestor?" How he had hoped
for sympathy and help ! Her comment
pained and disappointed him more than
he admitted to himself as he hurried
on toward the conclusion — the only
conclusion he could come to, yet one
from which even now he instinctively
shrank as one shrinks from severe and
inevitable torture.
"Bernice, I love you ! I had hoped to
offer you a home of luxury and ele-
gance. For many months I have been
building a dream palace for you. The
thought of you has been an inspiration
DOCTOR BESTOR'S" ATONEMENT
315
to me in all the hard places of my work.
All I can offer you now is a heart full of
tenderest devotion, a life in which you
might have to share hardship, in which
I might have to be much separated
from you. Will you be my inspiration
still in this rough path in which my
feet must walk? Oh, Bernice Bernice!
— but no ! I will not plead with you. I
could not go away without telling you
of my love. I will not ask you for an
answer to-night — to-morrow, perhaps —
at least, before I start West." And so
he said "good-night" and passed out
into the quiet street.
Something in her manner as she
bade him "good-night" made his heart
ache as he walked the three squares be-
tween her home and his. Philip Bestor
could not have told how her manner
was different from what it had ever
been. Any one else would not have
known there was a difference. But with
that unerring sensitiveness which is a
special gift to lovers he felt, rather than
saw, the proud reserve that was com-
ing like a screen — ever so thin it may
be, yet a screen — between his soul and
hers.
And so, as he walked the quiet street
again, with the street lights stretching
ahead in a long, glittering line and the
white stars shining overhead, no fairy
group of gladsome thoughts danced
about him. He was conscious only of
that dim unrest, that indefinable sense
of something gone amiss.
With a heavy heart he entered his
-rooms. Richard Farmington had al-
ready retired. He sat down and looked
wearily at the wall. Wearily the clock
on the mantel ticked off the seconds.
Each one fell an added weight upon
his drooping spirit. He was not think-
ing out this trouble with his masterly,
capable mind ; he was letting the weary
thoughts drag him along with them.
He was not taking up this burden with
courageous resistance; he was letting
it press him down with a weight that
grew heavier with each breath he drew.
Many a noble, aspiring spirit has
been crushed out by such dull, slow
pressure.
But would Philip Bestor, the man of
the unselfish, courageous, victorious
resolution in the case of Mr. Farming-
ton, allow even definite and certain dis-
appointment (to say nothing of such
vague unrest of heart as he now felt) to
come between him and his life purpose?
No — and yet, perhaps, yes ! For, as we
have said, he was naturally enthusiastic
and deeply in love, and had one of
those supersensitive, emotional natures,
which, though they sometimes lie deep
and unguessed by one's associates, yet
hold infinite possibilities for torture or
ecstacy.
The doctor went to troubled dreams
and woke with the same dim forebod-
ing still in his heart. But morning, with
its freshness, its renewal of life and new-
made promises, brings a little inspira-
tion even to sad lives ; and what looked
dark in the dusk of evening wears a
different appearance in the morning
light. While faint hearts take a little
pale new hope under the glad spell of
the morning, strong hearts drink deep
at the fountain of youth and courage,
and go forth conquering into the new
day.
Though Philip Bestor was sensitive
to all the fine shades of emotional joy
or woe, yet he had a courageous heart
— strong to face the hard things in life.
So he put down this dim foreboding,
scorned his last night's weakness, and
told himself again and again that his
fears had been foolish and imaginary,
and that Bernice Parke had only been a
little too painfully surprised at the sud-
denness of it all; and when she had
thought it over she would give him the
help and sympathy and love that surely
must answer the deep yearning of his
soul for her.
Dr. Bestor and Mr. Farmington had
just returned from breakfast when Gor-
don Parke called and asked for a talk
with the doctor, and the two men went
into the library. Mr. Parke began at
once in a business-like way :
"I understand from my daughter that
you intend giving up your medical ca-
reer."
"Yes, sir; that is my intention."
"As an older man who has seen some-
thing of the world, may I ask if you
31.6
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
have considered what this will mean to
you?"
"I believe I have weighed the con-
sequences carefully, sir."
"You perhaps do not appreciate the
influence, the power, the supreme posi-
tion you hold as a surgeon."
"I think I have not been over-modest
in regard to my success."
"My dear sir, let me entreat you not
to allow a matter of mere sentiment to
deprive you of position, influence and
wealth, and the medical profession of
the foremost man in its ranks."
"Mr. Parke," said the doctor, quietly
and earnestly, "do you regard a man's
soul as a matter of mere sentiment? By
my own mistaken zeal I have brought
the soul of Richard Farmington back
from its rest on the bosom of infinite
truth, to wander again this sin-cursed
earth in a hostile environment, over
which he had no control or influence,
and God holds me responsible for that
soul until He calls it again to Himself."
"Certainly, doctor, I appreciate your
feeling in the matter. This is a noble
resolve to help your patient overcome
his difficulties, but why give up your
profession? Can you not help Richard
Farmington and still give the medical
world the benefit of your unparalleled
skill?"
"No, sir; much as I honor your
greater age and superior judgment,
there is no compromise possible in this
case. My profession has been my idol.
My devotion to it is such that, should I
keep my place in it, Richard Farming-
ton would soon be crowded out ; and,
besides, since it is through my profes-
sion that I have wronged a human soul,
is it too great a thing to give up in or-
der to atone for that wrong?"
"Since you are firm in your decision.
I must tell you that, under the circum-
stances, I cannot give you my daugh-
ter's hand. Good morning to you." And
without further comment he walked
out.
The doctor sat dazed and astonished,
trying to understand the meaning and
motive of Gordon Parke's words. Ber-
ni.ce must have told her father what
the doctor had said the night before.
Mr. Parke, being a man of the world,
had doubtless opposed his daughter's
marrying a person of no prominence,
and had rushed off in his impetuosity to
try to save what had seemed a brilliant
and promising suit. Dr. Bestor did not
know that love and pride had each
struggled for the mastery in Bernice
Parke's heart ; that she had thrown her-
self into a chair as soon as he had gone
and wept with grief and vexation and
disappointment; that she had almost
thought she loved him enough to marry
him, anyway, but could not give up so-
ciety, wealth, elegance — to trail about
the world with Dr. Bestor, trying to
keep a paltry Irishman out of mischief;
that she had come to her father in the
morning, red-eyed and petulant, and
begged him to see if he could not turn
the mind of her fanatic lover into a
more sensible channel. All this Dr.
Bestor did not know as he sat at his
desk an hour later writing a note to
her, telling of the interview with her
father and asking her to allow him to
call for her personal answer the fol-
lowing evening. Her reply reached him
in the afternoon :
-
it
"Dr. Bestor : Dear Sir — You need not
call for your answer. You may have
now : I cannot marry a lunatic.
"Bernice Parke."
If Philip Bestor's sensitive nature
had suffered from the faint, indefinite
sense of Bernice Parke's disapproval the
evening before, how would he sustain
a blow like this?
It is one of the greatest blessings the
Creator has bestowed upon the race
that we should be incapable of realizing
at once any great and sudden trouble
that comes upon us. There may be af- j
terward long, slow days of pain in
which to realize its fulness, but at first 1
there is only the bewildered sense of
change. There may be miles and miles
of desert waste, with a leaden sky above
and a fruitless earth beneath, and our
two weary, spiritless feet to plod and
plod and plod, with never a grassy spot
to rest upon, but at first there is only
the weird feeling of unfamiliarity ; and
DOCTOR BESTOR'S ATONEMENT
317
our cry is not the cry of desolation and
despair, but that of a lost child.
And so Philip Bestor, staggering and
bewildered, went on preparing for his
departure, calling over and over again
from the painful emptiness of his heart
the name of the woman he loved, as a
V] little, uncomprehending child calls for
er ''> its dead mother. And as the child may
0ne ; J be interested in other things awhile
ao |land then, with a sob of remembrance,
10sl q repeats the call, so the man turned
rr )| again and again from the occupations
so i] of these last full days to utter that wild
'J | heart cry. Yet in all the growing pain
of his disappointment he did not think
of giving up his purpose. With Philip
Bestor a resolution reached through so
much soul agony as this had required
became a part of his life, not to be
lightly torn away.
So the day came for the departure.
Dr. Bestor and Richard Farmington
awaited the calling of the west-bound
train in the midst of the ceaselessly-
moving crowd at Broad street station.
Suddenly Dr. Bestor was conscious of
apair of deep-blue eyes resting upon
him, and looked up to meet the gaze
of Bernice Parke.
"Bernice!" The heart utterance came
j unbidden to his lips, full of the longing
it was not meant to express. But the
proud, beautiful face turned away, and
| the doctor, with a throb of pain, walked
j toward the gate. He did not look back
j to see the wistful expression on Ber-
nice Parke's face. He did not hear her
i| call his name as he walked away in the
! crowd. And he never knew that she
| had learned the time of his departure
j and had come there hoping to see his
i face again before he went.
The train for Chicago was called,
and the two men with scores of other
passengers were soon being whirled
westward. Mr. Farmington spent the
first hour or two of the way reading
"Brown's Sociology," while the doctor
looked sadly from the window. But
the scenery flew past him unnoticed.
He was trying vaguely and ineffectu-
ally to read some connected meaning
into his disturbed existence. There
was no meaning in it all — no interest.
He had been weaving a beautiful de-
sign — suddenly the threads began to
snarl — and now there was nothing but
a tangled mass. That was all he could
see as he reviewed his life, past and
present. As for the future, it was all
gray. Even his obligation to Richard
Farmington had no color.
When the train neared Altoona the
doctor was still in his reverie. A num-
ber of Irish laborers boarded the train
at Altoona, but neither Richard Farm-
ington nor the doctor gave them more
than a passing notice. But the doctor
overheard one of them, with his eyes
fixed on Mr. Farmington, say :
"Faith, Moike ! there's a mon looks
loike Pete Murphy."
"Sure! how can it be ony ither?" re-
sponded his companion.
"Oi thought he was killed in the
wrick," said the first; "but that's sure
the mon."
"Hullo ! Pete; how are ye, old mon?"
said one, laying his hand familiarly
upon Mr. Farmington's shoulder.
"Pardon me, sir, but you are mis-
taken in the man. My name is Rich-
ard Farmington."
"A foine joke, that!" said the Irish-
man with a rude laugh. "Sure, it's a
foine joke for ye to be ridin' dressed
up loike a dandy and sportin' the name
o' Farmington!"
Then, coming nearer, he whispered
so loudly that Dr. Bestor overheard the
words : "The wrick on the Reading
saved ye the trouble of usin' your knife,
eh, Pete?"
"Sir, I know nothing of what you are
saying. Will you have the courtesy
not to disturb me further?"
"My! listen to the airs of him, will
ye! Where did ye come by that slick
tongue o' yours, Pete?"
"I shall be obliged to call the conduc-
tor if you do not cease your nonsense
at once," said Richard Farmington.
"Ah, come now, Pete !" said one with
a sly wink, pulling a bottle of whiskey
from his hip pocket.
An eager, hungry look came into
Richard Farmington's face, and in-
stantly his hand reached for the bottle
and had it to his lips. With a quick,
318
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
authoritative movement Dr. Bestor ar-
rested the hand that held the bottle.
"Mr. Farmington, I beg of you to
consider what you are doing."
With the suddenness of the realiza-
tion, the hand relaxed its hold and the
bottle lay in fragments upon the car
floor, while the whiskey soaked into the
carpet. The Irishman who presented
the whiskey was very angry, and had
the conductor not passed through the
car at that instant here would doubtless
have been blows. After a few words
from Dr. Bestor, however, the conduc-
tor ordered the Irishmen into the smok-
ing car, and an hour later they became
so intoxicated that they were put off
the train.
It was now Mr. Farmington's turn to
sit in deep thought. Here had been
another temptation, and how narrowly
he had escaped it! In fact, so narrow
had been his escape from each struggle
through which he had passed that each
hard-won victory, instead of strengthen-
ing him for the conflict, left him less
self-confident and more fearful of the
way before him. Dr. Bestor realized
this also, and felt more than ever as-
sured of the need of his constant pres-
ence and help for Richard Farmington.
The fourth day of their journey
brought them to San Francisco. The
doctor had suggested that Mr. Farm-
ington might have a room in the home
of the doctor's brother-in-law, Robin-
son Lee, which was readily arranged.
Thus the doctor could be near his
friend for the present without any
seeming sacrifice.
On the next day after their arrival in
San Francisco Mr. Farmington wished
to withdraw some money from the bank
where he was a stockholder and de-
positor. But here a new difficulty arose
— the bank officials would not know
him and he would have to be identified.
Dr. Bestor being a stranger in the city,
his identification would not be ac-
cepted. Robinson Lee was the only
man who could do it, and it was doubt-
ful whether his slight knowledge would
avail much. However, the three men
went to the bank together. Approach-
ing a clerk with whom Mr. Farmington
had been personally acquainted Mr. I
Lee presented first Dr. Bestor, who had
a draft cashed ; next, "Mr. Richard
Farmington, one of your depositors and
stockholders."
The clerk looked astonished. "Rich-
ard Farmington?"
"Yes, sir; you have doubtless read of
the remarkable operation performed
upon him in Philadelphia."
"But I thought Mr. Farmington
died.'"
"Well, yes — or no — that is — a part
of him died." And Mr. Lee recounted
the main features of the operation as
he had heard them from Dr. Bestor.
"Here is the operating surgeon," said
Mr. Lee. "He will tell you the same."
Dr. Bestor confirmed Mr. Lee's state-
ment.
"I will call one of the cashiers," said
the clerk.
They went into a private office and
there went over the whole ground
again. But the cashier was in doubt
and called in another and they both
decided it should be referred to the
president, who was spending a week in
Oregon and would not return for sev-
eral days.
So Richard Farmington was forced
to accept a loan from Dr. Bestor in
order to meet some obligations that
were already overdue owing to his pro-
tracted absence in the East.
When the president of the bank re-
turned and considered the subject of
Mr. Farmington's deposit and stock, he,
in turn, referred it to the directors ; and
they gave the decision that Richard
Farmington, the depositor and stock-
holder was dead, and that the man who
called himself by that name had no
right to the money.
As a large part of Richard Farming-
ton's money was in this bank he at
once entered suit to recover what he
believed to be his rights. The suit was
conducted by two of the ablest lawyers
in San Francisco. Dr. Bestor, at his
own expense, sent for his first assistant
in the operation and the nurse. The
case had no precedent. The laws of
California had no clause that would ap-
ply. The counsel for the plaintiff tried
DOCTOR BESTOR'S ATONEMENT
319
to establish the identity of the person-
ality of Richard Farmington. The de-
fence argued that, since the plaintiff
was Richard Farmington only in a very
small part of him, if his claim were al-
lowed another man might come with a
much smaller part of him belonging to
some one else, and so this species of
"fraud" would advance from stage to
stage, through all the gradations of
grafted limbs and skin grafting, until
there would be no security whatever in
property. The court ruled in favor of
the defence, and declared that the es-
tate of the deceased Richard Farming-
ton would be settled according to the
laws of the state.
The evening after the decision was
reached in court Dr. Bestor sent a tele-
gram to his attorney in Philadelphia :
"Sell my property on Twenty-fourth
street and send the money here as soon
as possible."
After the decision of the court in the
case of "Richard Farmington versus
the First National Bank of San Fran-
cisco," the other companies in which
Mr. Farmington had investments re-
fused to pay dividends or to recognize
in any way the man who declared him-
self a stockholder. So Richard Farm-
ington's entire fortune, not lavish, but
ample, was swept beyond his grasp, and
he found himself not only tempted and
handicapped, but penniless in a world
in which he did not properly belong. It
is true the Reading road had granted
him some damage money, but since he
was apparently a strong and able man,
having made a complete physical re-
covery, the allowance made was very
small. He had been advised by a Phil-
adelphia lawyer to enter suit for more,
but the decision of the California courts
gave him little courage to try in the
East.
Dr. Bestor now entered upon his life
work with renewed zeal, seeing all. the
while a plainer path of duty before him,
impelled by a real friendship for the
unfortunate man. Yet in all his ear-
nestness he had not forgotten Bernice
Parke. In his heart he still kept a fire
burning on the altar of her shrine. But
now he was carrying his load coura-
geously; not sinking helplessly beneath
it. Loads do not crush when carried so.
Richard Farmington's efforts to re-
gain his property lasted through sev-
eral months, and while they lasted there
was little question in regard to the doc-
tor's stay. But when the cases were all
settled it was apparent to Dr. Bestor
that he must find some new excuse for
staying on. But first it must be decided
what was the best way in which to help
Richard Farmington. It seemed use-
less as well as embarrassing for him to
try to establish himself in the old fa-
miliar life. He felt this himself, and
had said so to the doctor as they talked
over the situation one evening after
the last court decision.
Dr. Bestor saw that all this was hav-
ing a disheartening effect upon Rich-
ard Farmington. Now, he believed, was
the time for the trip he had planned
for them when the first gleam of his
atonement shone in upon his troubled
conscience.
"Mr. Farmington," said he, as they
strolled along the water's edge one af-
ternoon, "in your previous existence
you were a professor of sociology, were
you not ?"
"Yes, sir."
"Have you any thought of taking up
a similar line of work now?"
"It had been my hope," said Richard
Farmington ; "but my late experience
with the people of San Francisco gives
me no wish to appear again at Leland
Stanford. The world has little use for
a man a second time, it seems," and he
smiled sadly.
Dr. Bestor did not express the pro-
found remorse and sympathetic pain
he felt. He did not wish his sympathy
to seem a "vain repetition" of words.
He would make all his life a living ex-
pression of repentant devotion. Be-
sides, what Mr. Farmington needed now
was not tender words of regret to make
him pity himself, but inspiring words
of hope and promise to set up a fair
goal to be won, and to fan the dying
embers of enthusiasm into life and light
again.
"If you should take up your work in
a new place," continued the doctor,
320
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
"you could soon win the same success
that attended you before ; or you might
study the problem from different popu-
lar standpoints and go on the lecture
platform."
"I have thought of that, too," said
Richard Farmington; "but my Irish
tongue !"
"You are learning to govern it beau-
tifully. Besides, hasn't an Irishman as
good a right to 'teach the people
knowledge' as any one else? You might
go abroad and study the peasant prob-
lem. Perhaps we might go together. I
have always intended to go some time,
and my sister insists that I ought to go
now. She thinks I look thin and worn
and need a rest ! — the way of sisters,
you know. I do not feel the need of
rest, but I half-believe I will go, any-
way."
And so it followed that the trip was
planned, Dr. Bestor advancing the
money, which Richard Farmington in-
sisted on giving notes for. A few weeks
later the two men landed at Liverpool,
and for several months they travelled
up and down in Europe; now among
the peasants of France, now in the
poorer districts of Russia, sometimes
amid the abject wretchedness of for-
eign cities; always going at Richard
Farmington's suggestions, though, the
doctor acquiescing quietly or even
seeming at times to take the initiative,
Richard Farmington did not realize
that he journey was of his own plan-
ning.
So engrossing was the study of peas-
ant life, so full were the days of inter-
est and of movement, that the months
passed swiftly arid smoothly, with little
of struggle or conquest on the part of
Richard Farmington, and little demand
for the personal protection and care
of Dr. Bestor.
At length the time came when Mr.
Farmington felt that he had collected
enough material for a course of lec-
tures, and the travelers began to talk of
returning to America. About this time
the doctor began to speak in a some-
what vague way of leaving his hospital
position in Philadelphia and taking up
^ome more independent work. By sug-
gestions at first, later by reasons and
arguments — the greater pleasure and
efficiency of independent work; the re-
strictions of hospital practice ; the over-
crowding of the profession in Philadel-
phia — Mr. Farmington was led to be-
lieve that the doctor was just arriving
at the decision that had been so. hardly
wrought out some months before.
"Will you practice as a physician
elsewhere?" asked Richard Farming-
ton.
"Not in the ordinary sense," was the
reply. "I have come to believe that
making the most of life does not al-
ways mean making a brilliant record-
of any kind, or even in following out
what seems to be a heaven-born im-
pulse in us. There come to us some-
times quick flashes of revelation show-
ing us the relative value of world-
praise and the calm blessing of humble
service."
"Do you know," said Richard Farm-
ington, "that same thought has been in
my own mind lately. As we have gone
among the poor, and I have collected
material for my lectures, I have felt
more and more impressed by the mis-
ery of these people. I realize that one
man's little effort, even though it be his
best, cannot accomplish much for mil-
lions of wretched ones. Yet our best
is all that we can do."
"In what way do you wish to reach
the lower classes?" asked the doctor.
"I should like to help them to saner
and broader views of life and their po-
sition in it ! — to give them courage to
struggle upward ; to help them to avoid
the thousand snares and vices of their
class ; not exactly a missionary, you
know, but an older and more fortunate
brother, who could come to them in an
attitude of sympathy and encourage-
ment. What do you think, doctor?"
"I commend you heartily! Let us
seek out some miserable section of
God's earth, where you may lead men
to hope and life and love of good, and
I will minister to their bodily ailments
and help them to learn cleanly, whole-
some, modes of life."
During the homeward voyage many
plans were discussed and many places
Drawn by L. T. Hammond
"Don't you think you are over-sensitive, Dr. Bestor ?
322
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
mentioned. The city seemed to offer
more opportunities for this kind of
work than the country, and Chicago
was, selected as the site of their first
endeavors.
Two months later, the first of Sep-
tember, found them settled. They
rented a small apartment — as small as
could be made to accommodate them.
Richard Farmington insisted that it
should be small, since he could not help
pay for it. They found some difficulty
at first in approaching the people they
wished to help. This class had been
preached to by plenty of rich people
who did not know what they were talk-
ing about. But soon they began to feel
the sincerity of these two who came
among them so simply, and discouraged
and troubled men began to come to
them with their difficulties.
And so as the busy days passed their
work became more interesting to Rich-
ard Farmington and the doctor, their
efforts more productive and the two
friends came into a closer bond of con-
geniality and common interest, and ex-
perienced something of the joy of un-
selfish service.
Have you seen, on a still, starry
evening, when the sky was cloudless
and the moon seemed mild and benig-
nant in her sovereignty, and the soft
breezes fanned your cheek with a
breath as calm as an angel's dream, the
cold fog creep up from the mysterious
hollows of the darkness, rising and ris-
ing about you, coming between you
and the dear, familiar things still near
at hand, chilling your very heart with
its death-like mystery?
As the winter advanced, Dr. Bestor
felt a little, nameless reserve on the
part of Richard Farmington. In an-
other man even the doctor's sensitive
perception would not have noticed it.
But the close friendship of these two,
together with the doctor's ever-vigilant
care for the welfare of Richard Farm-
ington, made any change, ever so slight,
a thing to be noted and watched.
The work was going on hopefully.
There seemed to be no flagging of in-
terest on the part of either. Richard
Farmington had had several struggles
with the taste for strong drink, but
each time, with the doctor's help, he
had come off victorious, and Dr. Bestor
believed that this taste would finally be
entirely overcome. Oncewalking along
a crowded street they passed a lady,
when, quick as a flash, Richard Farm-
ington's hand seized her purse, and be-
fore the doctor could stop him he be-
gan to run. The lady called "Thief!"
The police caught the culprit and hur-
ried him to the police station, where,
only through Dr. Bestor's earnest
pleading and full explanation, and
Richard Farmington's utter humilia-
tion, he was released. There had been
other similar cases, yet all these things
had served to strengthen the tie be-
tween them. Whence, then, came this
strange reserve?
The doctor redoubled his efforts to
be companionable, was more careful to
accompany Mr. Farmington in his
visits among the poor and wretched,
even where his own services were not
required. AVhatever this strange influ-
ence was, he must find it and be ready
to help. That was his life work — to
help Richard Farmington. He was re-
sponsible for Mr. Farmington in every
movement of this second life of his.
Therefore; even a breath of trouble
weighed heavily upon the doctor's
heart.
But watch as he might, and try as
he might, by every means he knew, to
draw Richard Farmington into his con-
fidence, the reserve grew more intense
and painful — and the doctor still had
no clue.
One Saturday night, in the middle
of March, the doctor wakened sud-
denly from his first sleep. A wild wind
was raging from the lake. The clock
on the wall was just striking eleven.
The windows rattled noisily. But amid
all the commotion the doctor was sure
he heard the latch of the hall door. He
called Richard Farmington, whose cot
was in the same room as his own; no
reply. He arose and crossed the room
and laid his hand upon Mr. Farming-
ton's pillow. He recoiled as if he had
touched a snake in the dark and gasped
with a sickening sensation of fear. Mr.
DR. BESTOR'S ATONEMENT
£3
Farmington was not there ! Not there?
Dr. Bestor shuddered at the thought.
Where had he gone? What new dan-
ger might he meet? Was there no
heavenly guardian to be spared to
watch' this man while the doctor slept?
What was to be done? The mad im-
pulse to follow came first; and the
doctor, seizing his clothes, dashed
down the stairway to the street.
Up or down? Right or left? He
looked and listened a moment, but saw
and heard nothing, then blindly has-
tened down the dim street. Turning
now and then, he tried a new course
at random. Sometimes the figure of a
late passer or of a policeman at a dis-
tance gave him a faint ray of hope.
Breathlessly he hurried on, disap-
pointed at each turn, growing more
and more frenzied in his search. For
nearly an hour he continued his search,
till he stopped at last, exhausted, dis-
heartened and bewildered. He had not
taken time to notice his course, and he
now found himself in an unfamiliar
part of the city, with no idea of his
situation or even of the direction of his
home. Accosting a policeman, he
breathlessly asked the way to his lodg-
ng. The officer, eyeing him sharply
ind noting the excitement of his man-
ler, said: "I guess you can find your
vay all right when you're sober," and
valked on in his beat. The doctor,
hagrined at this rebuff, advanced more
lowly, calming himself as much as
>ossible before he should meet the next
joliceman. This time he received a
ore civil reply and twenty minutes
rought him to his rooms again.
He almost feared to enter lest he
ould find Richard Farmington there ;
et to know of his return was the one
ing he wished most. But Richard
armington was not there. Dr. Bestor
ranged the room just as it had been
hen he awakened and went back to
ed, that Richard Farmington might
ot suspect that he had been up.
There was, of course, no more sleep
r the doctor that night, and he had
me to think more sanely now. He
alized the rashness of his wild, clue-
less search in the night. He was tor-
tured with apprehensions of the
gravest character. But whatever he
did, he must act calmly. Richard Farm-
ington's late reserve showed the doc-
tor that he could not count on a confi-
dential talk with him now. He must
not let Mr. Farmington suspect his un-
easiness and he must watch unceas-
ingly.
The clock had already struck two
when the doctor heard cautious foot-
steps in the hall. The door opened
softly and Richard Farmington came
in. He paused a moment inside the
door; then, coming softly to the doc-
tor's side, he listened to his breathing.
It was a hard moment for the doctor,
but his breath came slowly and heavily,
and Richard Farmington, satisfied that
he was unnoticed, crept softly to his
own bed.
The next day the men went together
on their rounds. Dr. Bestor failed to
see any decrease in Richard Farming-
ton's interest. He even began to cen-
sure himself for his apprehensions of
the night before. Perhaps Mr. Farm-
ington had been absent on some errand
of mercy in the night. Perhaps it was
a case of "not letting the left hand
know." However, the doctor would
watch to-night. His responsibility was
too great to be neglected on the strength
of probabilities.
That evening they talked over some
new plans for the classes they would
conduct after working hours for the
men who cared for them. They talked
of ways in which they might make
these attractive; of the courses they
would teach and the good they hoped
to do. At the usual hour they retired,
and the doctor began his silent, wake-
ful vigil.
Tt is hard to keep awake alone in the
dark, but the doctor was in earnest.
Past ten and eleven he waited. It
must be nearly twelve. Most likely
Mr. Farmington would not go out to-
night — perhaps. What! Had he been
asleep? His activities of the night be-
fore and the busy day which had fol-
lowed had overcome his tired body at
last with sleep. Surely it had been
only a moment. He would turn up the
324'
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
gas ever so little and get himself a
drink and thus see if Richard Farm-
ington were really there. No ! He was
gone ! and it was half-past twelve !
Overwhelmed with remorse, and
heaping upon himself bitter and un-
just reproaches, Dr. Bestor stared
fiercely at the empty cot with clenched
hands and rigid form. He did not,
however, repeat the folly of the pre-
vious night, but, going back to bed,
waited. He had waited more than an
hour when sleep again overcame him,
and when he awakened and stirred Mr.
Farmington was bending over him as
he had done on the night before. A
cold shudder came over the doctor as
he heard Richard Farmington slip back
into his pocket something metallic and
cross the room with an unsteady tread.
On the third night the doctor mixed
himself a stimulant that would be sure
to keep him awake, and prepared to
watch as before. About eleven o'clock
Mr. Farmington arose, dressed silently,
came stealthily to Dr. Bestor's side and
listened to his slow, regular breathing;
then, quietly unlatching the door, went
out. He had scarcely gone three steps
when Dr. Bestor sprang up, seized his
clothes in tense silence and a moment
later was on his trail. He wore soft-
soled slippers, and with these he leaped
down the stairs and was on the street
just in time to see Mr. Farmington's
figure disappear around the corner. He
had little difficulty in following —
through narrow streets and finally
through a dark alley to a low, rear
door, which opened and closed so
quickly that the doctor, three rods
away, could not see anything but a
light. Coming nearer, however, he
found a small offset in the wall where
he might stand concealed from any
passer-by. Soon two men passed, talk-
ing guardedly. The doctor caught the
words, "Dick Farmington," and saw
the two men enter the same low door.
Another and another passed with
stealthy, cat-like tread. Then there
were no more. The doctor looked up
and down, and, seeing no one, ventured
nearer the door. He could hear coarse
laughter and rude, harsh voices, and
knew that the men were drinking and
gambling and planning deeds of crime.
"Dick, if you'd only get rid of that
blessed deacon of yours, you might
spend your days as well as your nights
to some purpose, instead of nosing
around like a pious saint among men'
who are as good as yourself."
Mr. Farmington's reply was not
heard, but Dr. Bestor had heard enough
and hastened away to his room. What
could he do? His own life was in
danger. Was this the outcome of all
his endeavor? The doctor's heart sank
— his courage faltered. Where was now
the "calm blessing of unselfish ser-
vice"? Utterly discouraged, the doctor
again went to bed, determined to be on
his guard if Mr. Farmington should
attempt an attack. Further than this
he could not think.
The door opened as before and Mr.
Farmington came in. The doctor
could see something glitter in his hand
as he passed the gas jet and came to
the bed. The doctor stirred and sighed
as if awaking, and, opening his eyes,
said: "Why, is that you, Richard?
Did you want something?"
"My head aches so that I cannot
sleep. Could you give me something
for it?"
"Certainly."
By the time the doctor had turned
on the light the glittering thing had
disappeared, and Mr. Farmington was
leaning wearily in a chair. No men-
tion was made of the fact that he still
wore his day clothing.
The remedy, however, did not re-
lieve the sick man. He slept some, but
awakened in the morning weak and
with little inclination to rise. The doc-
tor had given him a mild, though weak-
ening, drug that would keep him quiet
for a day or two and allow time for a
little thinking.
Engrossed as he was by his new
perilous situation, Dr. Bestor took time
to look over the morning paper. He
was interested in the sensational fraud
exposures which had been coming out
in connection with the leading traction
company of Philadelphia. The glaring
headlines of this morning's paper be-
DR. BESTOR'S ATONEMENT
325
tokened more excitement. Rapidly the
doctor's eyes ran over them till they
stopped short as he read :
GORDON PARKE SUICIDES!
i>
Involved to the Amount of $50,000.00!
Sensational Testimony Brought
Out by District Attorney!
The account went on to tell how Mr.
Parke, attorney for the defence, had
been conducting a most brilliant case,
foiling the prosecution in every attack,
until yesterday, when new evidence
was brought in that showed Gordon
Parke to have obtained more than any
other man in the big graft. His expos-
ure was followed by his arrest, and the
brilliant and wealthy lawyer, the man
of the world and of society, was taken
to the city jail for the night. The at-
tendants, on opening the cell in the
morning, found the prostrate form of
the dead man.
As Dr. Bestor read the account of
the father's crime and misfortune his
sympathies were awakened for the
daughter. "Poor Bernice ! How could
she endure a shock like this?" He
seemed to see the deep blue of her
mournful eyes looking at him across
the miles in sad appeal. He was her
lover, and he should have been her pro-
tector and her support in such an hour.
Besides, what a miserable failure he
had made of his efforts to help Rich-
ard Farmington ! It was a sad mistake
to leave her so. He must repair it even
yet. And so he wrote :
"My Dearest Bernice: Let me come
and comfort you in this deep trial. I
love you still. I have always loved
you, even when I tried to persuade
myself that I did not. It was a mis-
take to leave you. You were right — I
was over-sensitive. I see it now. I
am coming back to my profession and
to you. Only tell me that I may, dear.
Only forgive the long, weary months
when I was away from you, and let me
stand always between you and every-
thing that can harm you or annoy you.
You cannot know how long and sad the
time has been to me. Let us forget our
troubled past in a perfect future to-
gether. Yours always,
"Philip Bestor."
He folded the letter, dreaming of a
rest from the turbulent life he now led ;
of the sweet bliss of the renewed love
of the only woman of his heart; of the
fair renown and joy he might yet gain
from his profession. As he placed the
letter in the envelope and pressed down
the flap a weary sigh from Richard
Farmington brought him back to him-
self. Suddenly he remembered all the
stern conflict that had brought him to
where he was. Should all that strug-
gle, that inflexible pointing of duty,
that anguish of renunciation, these
months of patient endeavor, count for
nothing now? Again he recalled the
black horror of his first realization of
the enormity of the wrong he had done
Richard Farmington. If God held him
responsible for the soul of Richard
Farmington when that soul was white
with the sanctity of the joy everlasting
whence it had returned, how much
more would He hold him responsible
now, when that soul was dark with
the shadows of shame and dishonor and
crime. For a moment two angels
seemed beckoning him to follow in two
opposite directions. One wore the ra-
diant form of Bernice Parke, the other's
name was Duty; and, though plain in
her aspect, she had in her face a peace
that Philip Bestor could not find in
the eyes of Bernice Parke. Deliber-
ately he picked up the letter he had
just written and tore it into a hundred
pieces, and again faced his life bravely
and squarely.
No definite plans could be made
about a course to follow. He would
have to wait and be ready to meet any
emergency when it came up. In the
meantime, while Richard Farmington
lay weak and helpless, the doctor at-
tended him with the utmost tenderness
and devotion. The end of three days,
when the effect of the drug should
have run its course, found Richard
Farmington still unable to rise. A week
passed and still he was prostrate. Dr.
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NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
Bestor believed that Mr. Farmington
had received a somewhat enervated
body from the Irishman. This fact, to-
gether with his late irregularities,
accounted for his illness. A strong
man could not long have endured the
earnest day work and the constant
night revelry in which Mr. Farmington
had engaged.
As day followed day, and then days
lengthened into weeks and there was
still no sign of recovery, Dr. Bestor
continued to show every consideration
for the man under his care. With all
his reserve and the influence of his late
criminal tendencies, still the doctor
found him lovable. Underlying all was
the strong and beautiful personality of
Richard Farmington. Patiently the
doctor set about winning over again
the old-time confidence. He talked
with the sick man when the sick man
seemed to care for it. Gently and care-
fully he led the conversation into
peaceful and friendly channels. Grad-
ually he began to make suggestions
that might appeal to the better side of
Richard Farmington's nature, and his
efforts were not fruitless. Little by
little the doors of Richard Farming-
ton's inner self began to swing open.
Still the doctor waited. He would not
presume upon the other's friendship.
At last one evening — it was midsum-
mer now — as the doctor sat beside the
bed and the two men were talking of
the work, they had come to Chicago to
do, and of what they hoped still to do,
suddenly Richard Farmington grasped
the doctor's hand and cried : "Oh,
Philip ! Philip ! If I had done my part
of the work as you have done yours,
Chicago would be a better city than it
is to-day."
The doctor replied that he thought
Mr. Farmington had done all that he
could, and that his help had been in-
valuable.
"No, no ! You do not know all. You
do not know what evil influence I have
exerted that more than balanced the
good. You do not know how many
sleepless nights brought on this pros-
tration. You do not know the danger
you yourself were in."
Dr. Bestor did know, but remained
silent. Then followed the whole
broken confession ! — how the struggles
with the Irish body had first resulted
in conquest; how, little by little, be-
ing always under temptation, always
in the presence of unholy tendencies,
he began to look upon them with more
and more tolerance, until he became a
slave to the insubordinate cravings.
Now under the influence of Dr. Bes-
tor's unselfish devotion, removed from
the temptations that had so sorely be-
set him, the better man had gained the
ascendency, the sleeping conscience
had awakened and was wrung with re-
morse to see what havoc had been
wrought while she slept.
By his confession and a re-estab-
lishment of the old genial relation be-
tween himself and the doctor a weight
seemed lifted from Richard Farming-
ton's heart, and from that day he be-
gan to gain strength. Before he was
strong enough, however, to resume his
work, he had a serious talk with the
doctor about the future. At his own
request they rented another apartment,
consisting of two rooms, one opening
out of the other. Richard Farmington
insisted upon sleeping in the inner
room, with the door locked from the
outside. Dr. Bestor was reluctant to
make an arrangement so humiliating
for his friend ; but upon the latter's
continued insistence he consented,
knowing himself that it was really the
best thing to do. It was also Mr.
Farmington's request to accompany
the doctor always; to be at all times
where the doctor could reach him in
a few minutes. This was, indeed, the
arrangement that Dr. Bestor had striven
to maintain. Now he thought his care
would be easier, since he had the co-
operation of Richard Farmington him-
self.
"If it had not been for you, I should
have been hopelessly lost long ago,"
cried Richard Farmington in a burst
of gratitude.
"If it had not been for me, you would
now be safe in the arms of eternal
peace," replied the doctor, sadly.
The new arrangement having been
DR. BESTOR'S ATONEMENT
327
made, they renewed their work with
increased earnestness. It needs not
that we follow them through all the
fifteen years of their endeavor, striving
with holy consecration to make the
world a better, fairer heritage. It
needs not that we recall the many pit-
falls in the path of Richard Farming-
ton, the many conflicts with that
strange, alien self — aye, the many falls
and the many contrite risings again.
It needs not that we paint in detail the
unselfish devotion, the untiring ser-
vice, the unwavering sacrifice of Philip
Bestor.
The summer of the fifteenth year
since Dr. Bestor and Richard Farm-
ington entered upon their work in Chi-
cago found both men still working out
the fulfilment of the dream that came
to them while studying the lower
classes of Europe. Their work had
greatly enlarged. Many other earnest
workers had joined them. Three night
schools were now conducted. There
were Saturday evening talks. There
were reading rooms. There were base-
ball fields and various other amuse-
ments. Some of the youths who found
inspiration fifteen years ago in the lives
of the two earnest men who led the
movement were now valiant workers
with them. Yet with all the increased
force of workers and the expansion of
the plan, Philip Bestor and Richard
Farmington were still regarded as the
heads. To them were referred all diffi-
cult questions of management, and if
the men in any of the classes felt the
need of special help and uplift, it was
to these two men that they brought
their burdens.
The years of toil and anxiety and
trouble and care had left their marks
on both. They were now but little past
middle age, yet both had been under
severe stress. Dr. Bestor, though still
alert, sensitive, enthusiastic, had lost
some of the impetuosity of his younger
years. Though still erect and stately,
he moved more slowly than he did
fifteen years ago, and the once luxuri-
ous brown hair was white and thin
upon his brow. Richard Farmington's
hair was also gray and his step broken ;
and the face, once seamed with lines of
hardship and dishonor, though now
softened by the real beauty of the soul
within, had gained new lines of strug-
gle and pain. Many of the evil ten-
dencies to which he was subject had
been in a large measure subdued. He
had "fought a good fight," had con-
quered one enemy after another, until
it seemed sometimes that the conquest
must be nearly over. Yet again and
again, from some unlooked-for direc-
tion, at some unguarded entrance, a
new enemy would come in; and then-
there would be the hard combat — the
fierce blows — and often it was only
through Dr. Bestor's timely aid that
victory was won at all.
One Saturday evening of this fif-
teenth summer Richard Farmington
and Dr. Bestor went to the hall where
the doctor was to talk to the men.
There was the usual good attendance,
for so devoted were the men to their
leaders that they never failed to hear
them when they could. The hall was
already filled when the two gray-
haired gentlemen entered and walked
to the front. Dr. Bestor had scarcely
begun speaking, however, when a few
strangers became noisy in the rear of
the room, and Richard Farmington
walked quietly back to them while the
doctor continued his discourse.
"We are apt to think too much about
sacrifice," he was saying. "If a man
gives up tobacco that his son may be
educated; if he gives up whiskey that
his wife may have a comfortable home
and dress respectably among her equals
— nay, if a man gives up his pleasures,
his comforts, his necessities even, for
the sake of wife or children or neigh-
bors or friends, is that sacrifice? No,
brothers; that is gain! We must live
not for ourselves, but for each other.
We must be willing to give even when
we do not see where the gain will come
from. For there is joy in service that
pays now and here for every unselfish
deed that we can do, if we but try to
find it. And if the son comes back from
school strong and good and ready to
help ; and if the wife's face loses the
weary look it had and wears a contented
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NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
smile; and if the friend or neighbor is
warm where he was cold, or is glad
where he was sorrowful, or is true and
brave where he was weak and cow-
ardly — then you have received double
pay for all your outlay. You have the
lasting joy in your heart and the good
you have done besides. We can never
face life squarely until we have learned
the true meaning of sacrifice and ser-
vice. Not the sacrifice that says, 'Ah
me, how much have I given ! Surely
the Lord owes me a special blessing
for all I have done!' Hush, brother!
The Lord owes you nothing at all, even
though you spend your whole life in
His service. Yet, though he owes you
nothing, He continues to bless you
more and more. We miss too many of
our blessings because we are looking
for some great and dazzling reward to
be bestowed upon us, while in reality
every deed of service for others brings
with it its own reward of joy."
This was Dr. Bestor's favorite theme
— his lesson, his message for the world.
It was the same thought that he ex-
pressed to Richard Farmington in the
first laying of their present plans. It
was his text to live by. As he grew
more engrossed in his theme and more
earnest in his speech, he did not see
Richard Farmington pass out the door
of the room between two men. "None,
indeed, did see it except those near the
door, for all were held by the spell of
the doctor's earnest manner. When he
had finished his speech he looked about
for Richard Farmington. Not finding
him beside him, he remembered that
he had gone down to the rear of the
room during the talk, and his eye
sought . anxiously among the many
faces and could not find the one it
sought.
"Is Mr. Farmington in the room?"
he inquired.
"No, sir," replied a youth near the
door. "He went out with them fellers
that was makin' a racket."
A sickening premonition of coming
ill swept over Dr. Bestor as he took
his hat and hurried out, excusing him-
self hastily from those who wished to
speak with him. All this work for the
men of Chicago was secondary always
to his care for Richard Farmington.
He knew not which way to turn. As
on the occasion of his first frenzied
night search for Richard Farmington,
he had an almost uncontrollable im-
pulse to hasten somewhere. Yet he
knew that to search in the mazes of
the city for one lost man was mad-
ness, and he started homeward with a
heavy heart.
He had walked little more than a
square along the dim street, silent ex-
cept for a few men going home from
the meeting, when, as he passed the
end of an alley, he thought he heard
a human groan. Stopping, he listened
and the groan came again. Fifteen un-
selfish years had made such a sound to
Dr. Bestor an imperative call for as-
sistance. Turning down the dark al-
ley, he groped his way carefully with
hands and feet. Soon he could hear
some one breathing heavily, and then
again the groan almost in his ears.
Stooping, he felt about with his hands
and came upon a man lying near the
wall.
"Who are you, brother?" but the
man did not speak. Lifting him in his
arms, he carried him, a limp, heavy
burden, to the deserted street and laid
him down under the light. He would
call the ambulance at once — no, he
would examine the man and see if he
needed such immediate care as the doc-
tor could give him. The face was
bruised and bleeding as he turned it
toward the light — so bruised that he
thought he had never seen it before.
As he loosened and threw back the
coat he noticed a paper extending from
an inner pocket. Drawing it forth, he
glanced at it and read the name of
Richard Farmington. Wildly turning
the face again toward the light, he ten-
derly brushed it with his handkerchief.
Yes, it was Richard Farmington ! The
doctor rushed to the nearest signal sta-
tion and called the ambulance. When
it arrived he ordered the injured man
taken to his own lodging.
All night Richard Farmington lay
unconscious, moaning with every
breath. All nght Dr. Bestor and Dr.
DR. BESTOR'S ATONEMENT
329
■:m
Drawn by L. T. Hammond
" HE NOTICED A paper extending EROM AN inner pocket"
!
Clayton, whom he had summoned, did
all that medical skill could do to re-
vive the sinking spark of life. It
seemed he could not live till morning.
But toward daylight he rallied a little
and seemed stronger and Dr. Clayton
went away, promising to return in
three or four hours.
A slender streak of the sun's first
light shone across the sick room as
Richard Farmington came back to con-
sciousness.
"Philip," he said feebly, "I am so
glad you are here. I am so glad that I
can speak to you before I go "
The doctor thought him delirious.
"Where are you going?" he asked.
"Out again into the infinite. Last
night I thought I must go without see-
ing you — without telling you again
how I thank you. With all my heart
I thank you, Philip — you and God.
And, oh ! Philip, I wanted you to know
that I had won in the last struggle and
that I go victorious."
There was scarcely time for the tell-
ing, and the words came brokenly at
the last; but from them Dr. Bestor
learned of that last conflict in the
night; how the men had swept Rich-
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NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
ard Farmington through the door be-
fore he could object (they were the
same men that he had first encountered
on the train as he and Dr. Bestor were
starting for San Francisco) ; how they
had allured him and made him most
tempting offers if he would join their
lawless band; how the old craving
came again so fierce and bitter that he
thought he must yield; how, when he
refused, they bribed and tempted more
and at last resorted to blows ; how they
had dragged him into the alley, almost
unconscious, thinking him dead, and
had fled away; and how, in the last
moments of consciousness, he heard
like an angel voice the words, "Who
are you, brother?" and knew that Dr.
Bestor had come.
"Do not try to keep me," he cried.
"My soul is already full of the limitless
joy. She is spreading her wings for
flight — Philip " but the soul had
gone and Philip Bestor was glad; glad
with a solemn, unspeakable joy that
Richard Farmington was beyond the
temptations and sorrows and limita-
tions of a life which had been wrongly
thrust upon him.
Philip Bestor's atonement was ac-
complished. The care and vigil were
over. What should he do with the few
years of activity that might yet be left
for him? This was the question that
faced him when he began again to think
of himself. Should he go on with the
work that Richard Farmington and he
had built up and learned to love? This
was impossible. In the fifteen years of
the life and work in Chicago, Dr. Bes-
tor had never hesitated to spend what
seemed needed for the work. He had
rented rooms and paid board and cloth-
ing bills for himself and Richard Farm-
ington, and had given whatever was
lacking for carrying out any projected
plan. Now he found himself almost
penniless. He would not be dependent
upon the other workers. He would
leave the work for younger hands and
hearts. Should he re-enter his profes-
sion and take up again the work that
had answered the enthusiasm of his
young manhood, thus supporting him-
self and giving again to the world the
results of his marvelous skill? Sadly
he remembered Richard Farmington's
words : "The world has little use for a
man a second time," and he felt that
this would be true of his profession.
Younger men with new ideas would
have no place for the gray-haired doc-
tor. Should he go to his sister, who
was now the only surviving member
of his family besides himself? But
Mrs. Lee had never quite sympathized
with her brother in his enterprise. She
had been proud of his renown, and
vexed that he should so lightly, as she
thought, throw it all away.. She would
be still more vexed that his fortune
also had been sacrificed on what she
was pleased to term the altar of his
fanaticism. Nothing was left, there-
fore, but toil — daily hard work for the
hands that had ministered to suffering
and distress. Yet Philip Bestor faced
his future nobly. No bitterness of toil
and hardship, no heavy load of weari-
ness and pain, no loneliness, could rob
him of the holy peace that rose like
incense from the censer of his fifteen
years of service for Richard Farming-
ton. He did not count it hard that he
must now enter a life of toil. His heart
was so full of gratitude for heaven's
blessings on his past efforts, and for
Richard Farmington's triumphant en-
try into the realms of infinite truth,
that he felt that all he could do or en-
dure would be only a little payment of
his debt. .
So thought Philip Bestor and so he
planned. But Supreme Justice, tender
and infinitely wise, cancelled the debt,
pronounced the atonement sufficient,
and, opening the door of eternity,
said : "Enter thou into the joys of thy
Lord."
Two weeks after the death of Rich-
ard Farmington, Philip Bestor was
found dead in bed. "Heart failure," the
coroner said, and so it was written in
the records of the city.
At Whitsuntide
By LEVERETT D. G. BENTLEY
CHARACTERS IN THE PLAY
Rev. Peter Holton, D.D., an aged clergyman.
Anna Holton, his niece.
Henry Marvin, a wealthy parishioner.
Dudley Mead, a newspaper reporter.
SCENE — Living room at the rectory.
TIME— Last Summer.
THE living-room at Rev. Peter
Holton's rectory is made attrac-
tive largely because of the sim-
plicity of its furnishings. Not only
this, but at the back and almost in the
centre, known as up stage, there is a
lattice window, through which one sees
the garden. The sun is shining bright-
ly, revealing a quiet charm both out
and indoors. The interior is by no
means bare of adornment, for there is
much bric-a-brac, some fashioned by
Anna's own hand, and more that has
been in the family for years ; accumu-
lated, so to speak, by successive gen-
erations. The furniture is both old
and new. The armchair at the (stage)
right and the table (center) are of a
substantial type common a half-cen-
tury ago. There is a fireplace at (stage)
right, which stands between two doors.
One of these latter, that nearest the
audience, leads to the garden. Through
the upper right-hand door one is ad-
mitted to the rector's study. At the
(stage) left is the door that opens on
the front piazza. There are several
places where vases of flowers may be
placed, including the mantelpiece, the
center-table and two small tables at
left and right. Both old-fashioned and
modern pictures hang upon the wall.
As the curtain is lifted, Anna Holton
enters through the front (left) door.
She carries a gathering basket filled
with daisies and garden roses, which
she places on the table at center. Here
there are six or seven empty vases.
Anna proceeds to cut and arrange the
blooms.
ANNA — ■
"Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old time is still a-flying,
And this same flower that blooms to-
day
Tomorrow may be dying."
Who doubts, if all else fails, I may
become a florist? — a lady florist, a po-
etical lady florist, who greets her cus-
tomers like this: "Roses you wish?
Certainly, madame. How many and
which poet do you prefer? One dozen
buds and Sir Walter Scott. Certainly,
madame. Here are your roses and here
your quotation:
" 'The rose is fairest when 'tis budding
new,
And hope is brightest when it
dawns from fears ;
The rose is sweetest wash'd with
morning dew,
And love is loveliest when em-
balmed in tears.' "
(Laughingly) — Not a bad idea; that
is, without the poetry. How would it
appeal to Uncle Peter, I wonder? Poor
(All rights reserved. Permission to produce may be obtained from author.)
33*
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NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
Uncle Peter ! I haven't seen him since
breakfast. (Looking towards the study
door at upper right.) It seems a pity
that a man of his years should be forced
to work so hard. Some people think a
clergyman has nothing to do but go
about making calls and drinking tea
with nice old ladies. They expect him
to preach on Sunday, but intimate that
he may have borrowed the sermon, or
at least used it some time before. If
they knew the truth, they wouldn't say
such things. Now, then, all the vases
are filled except this one. Daisies, in-
deed ! What does the poetical lady
florist know of them? I have it, and
from Hood :
"The daisy's cheek is tipp'd with a
blush,
She is of such low degree."
(Placing the filled vases about the
room.) Uncle Peter must see these
while they are fresh and lovely.
(Knocks on study door.) Uncle Peter,
Uncle Peter, won't you come out just
a moment? Please do ; you need a rest
from that horrid grind. (Makes face of
mock self-reproach.) Forgive me,
uncle ; I did not mean to say "horrid
grind." But come out here, won't you?
hol. (opening study door and enter-
ing living room) — Anna, it quite cheers
my old heart to see you so happy.
anna — And I want you to cheer my
heart by being happy yourself. Come,
see the flowers. They are your favor-
ites. (Both go about admiring the
loaded vases.) Uncle Peter, you never
can guess what idea came to me while
I was arranging these flowers. Sit
down in your armchair and let me tell
you. (Holton sits and Anna kneels be-
side him.)
hol. — Yes, my darling.
anna — It doesn't seem quite fair,
Uncle Peter, that you should be work-
ing so hard, so very hard, and I fritter-
ing the time away.
hol. — But, Anna, my child.
anna — It's true, uncle, and it isn't
right. Why can't I share at least some
of the burden by growing flowers for
the market? You remember I did bet-
ter in botany than in any of my spe-
cials, and there is our empty conserva-
tory, which really ought to be in use.
Please? I mean it in all seriousness.
You, perhaps, don't realize it, but you
are working too hard. The vestry
ought to retire you after all these years
with a substantial allowance ; make
you rector emeritus of Trinity parish,
and let you live in comfort on your
regular salary. You could advise me
about the greenhouses. (Studying his
face.) Oh, I know it is hard to give
up, but at any rate they ought to pro-
vide you with an assistant. (Looking
again at him.) Does it make you feel
bad? Let me talk to Mr. Marvin; he's
senior warden and seems to have the
greatest influence. I'm going to tell
him just what I think.
hol. — Anna, my girl, you have a gen-
erous heart and an impulsive nature,
but I could not allow you to do that,
even if I thought it to be the right
course. Since you have broached the
subject, however, I shall tell you what
the vestry has done. I have been strug-
gling with myself against telling you.
anna — But tell me now. What has
the vestry done?
hol. — It met last evening and voted
to retire me
anna — (Starts to speakwith indigna-
tion, but represses herself.)
hol. — They said I was too old.
anna — Too old!
hol. — It was cowardly of me to shut
myself up this morning and brood
over it.
anna — Not cowardly, uncle ; you
were too considerate of me. But, uncle,
I hope they've fixed a decent salary for
you as rector emeritus. You've given
them the very best years of your life;
surely they will show some appreciation
of that fact.
hol. — No salary, child, no pension;
and I'm sorry, Anna, for your sake. It
is the will of the Master, no doubt; but
I can't understand it yet.
anna (almost savagely) — I wish the
vestry were left in my hands. (Then
with sudden self-reproach.) Forgive
me, uncle ; but I haven't the self-control
you have. Go on, please, and tell me
more about it.
AT WHITSUNTIDE
333
HOiv. — It is all in this letter, my
child. Oh, Anna, I had hoped that you
should never have cause to grieve
while I had my health and strength. It
was when you were getting breakfast
and I was walking in the garden that
Henry Marvin came up in his- auto-
mobile, stopped and wished me good
morning, at the same time passing me
this. "Read it at your leisure," he said,
"and I will call later in the morning
and talk it over with you." I confess
that I at first hoped it might be an in-
crease in salary. I don't know why,
but I suppose the wish was father to
the thought. Not until after breakfast
did I open it. Here it is, my dear; read
it for yourself.
anna (reads).
"Rev. Peter Holton, D. D.—
"Dear Sir : As senior warden of Trin-
ity parish I desire to inform you that at
a meeting of the vestry last evening it
was voted to request your resignation
as rector, said resignation to be forth-
coming at once."
How cruel !
"It is a source of much regret to all
that such a vote should be necessary,
and I desire to say in this connection
that there was no word of criticism of
your work. All spoke of it in the high-
est terms of praise."
Praise !
"We believe a younger man could ac-
complish more, and, further, that the
duties of rector are far too arduous for
one of your years. Personally, I wish
to add my own expression of regret,
and " (drops note).
Trum, trum, trum, — the hypocrites !
HOiv. — Anna ! Anna. You forget. You
are a woman.
anna — Yes, and I wish I were a man.
(Puts her head in her hands as if she
were about to cry.)
hoi,.— Don't, my child, don't. There
is always the possibility of a small
country parish or even a Sunday sup-
ply now and then — that is, if it is never
known that I am turned out to make
room for younger blood. Age has the
wisdom, but youth the power.
anna — Uncle Peter, I am going to
ask you one favor, and you must grant
it. Will you allow me to be present at
the interview with Mr. Marvin?
HOL. — Do you think it best, my
child? It may be very painful.
anna — Possibly, Mr. Marvin might
find it more painful than either you
or I.
hoi,. — Careful, my darling. It would
never do to show an unchristian or a
hostile spirit. Furthermore, nothing is
to be gained. Mr. Marvin is a firm,
resolute man of the world. What he
says he means. He never allows him-
self to be crossed. No, my child, rage
or tears would never move him. Not
that I should allow you to, or you de-
sire to, thus appeal in my behalf.
anna — Mr. Marvin, as you know,
runs Trinity parish with his money.
HOiv. — Hush, Anna, hush.
anna — No, uncle, I won't hush, It's
true. He thinks you're not socially
equal to Trinity. He wants a young
man upon whom he may spend his
money, and maybe marry to his ugly
daughter.
HOiv. — Anna, Anna !
anna — Mr. Marvin himself was the
son of a brick mason or something and
made his money — well, stories differ;
but he made it, and now he wants to
lead this town and this parish and
everything else. Why didn't he show
his power to manage affairs by con-
trolling his son? Jack Marvin did ex-
actly as he pleased. There was some
horrible scandal, although it never got
out. But why was he sent away?
hoi,. — Anna, I beg of you, desist.
No matter if what you say is true, or
half true, it is wrong, very wrong, to
repeat it. It's idle gossip and gossip
anna — Gossip is detestable — when it
isn't delicious.
HOiv. — Marvin holds a high place in
the community.
anna — He may keep it. If I were
Jenkins, and at that a sexton, I wouldn't
change places with Mr. Marvin.
HOiv. — Ah, poor Jenkins ! He'll be
sorry, I'm sure. We've been at Trinity
for so many years. I don't know what
I should have done without Jenkins as
my sexton.
anna — And I don't know what Jen-
334
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
kins would have done without you.
He's shooed off the beggars that were
imposing upon you while you drove
away another crowd. who were working
on his sympathies. You both seem to
feel that it was right for yourself to
give money to paupers, but wrong for
the other. Shall I call Jenkins? (Goes
to window.) He is very likely in the
garden. Or shall you tell him later?
(Sudden agitation.) Goodness, uncle,
here comes a young man.
hol. — Is there anything extraordi-
nary in a young man calling here?
anna — This one is a stranger.
hol. — And not an ill-looking one, I
may believe, judging from the pretty
blushes on someone's cheek.
anna — Shall I let him in or wait until
he rings the bell? The door is wide
open.
hol. — Let me save you any embar-
rassment. (Holton walks to door down
left and pushes it back, it opening off
stage. Meanwhile, Anna stands in
front of a mirror and arranges one or
two flowers in her hair.) This way, sir.
mead (enters left) — Thank you, sir.
Rev. Mr. Holton?
hol. — That's my name, sir. This is
Miss Anna Holton, my niece.
mead — Delighted to meet Miss Hol-
ton. My name is Mead — Dudley Mead.
I'm a reporter for the News-Herald.
hol and anna — A reporter !
mead (noting their pained surprise)
— Reporter, yes. No horns, no claws,
no tusks. Just a common or garden
variety of reporter.
anna — We weren't expecting you.
hol. — No, we weren't expecting you.
Won't you be seated?
mead — Thank you. Miss Holton, Mr.
Holton, let me assure you that you
have nothing to fear from me. I have
not come to pry into private papers,
ransack your trunks or ask you search-
ing questions, writing down carefully
everything you say in a notebook. I
am merely on a story for my paper, and
I think you know that the News-Herald
hasn't any disposition to roast or mis-
use innocent people.
hol. — We read the News-Herald and
like it.
mead — Thank you. Now, then, sir,
let me tell you that all we want is your
side of the case. I promise to print it
exactly as you give it to me.
hol. — My side?
mead — Yes, Mr. Holton. You see,
our local correspondent, or, rather,
your local correspondent, of our paper
sent in a .tip to the office that there w r as
some kind of a row, -as he called it, in
Trinity parish, and my assignment is
to investigate it. If there isn't any
truth in it, we do not intend to print
anything whatever. We are not going
to make or fake, if you will permit me, a
story. If there is anything to be writ-
ten, we'll do our best to treat both sides
fairly. You don't know me and doubt-
less you suspect me, but I really am
honest.
anna (under her breath) — And mod-
est.
mead (overhearing her) — Thank you.
hol. — There is nothing to conceal,
Mr. Mead. This morning, much to my
surprise, I received a notice that the
vestry desired my resignation. I will
gladly show you that letter. (Picking
up letter and passing it to Mead.)
That's my side of the case, Mr. Mead.
mead (reading it through) — Signed
by Henry Marvin.
hol. — You know him?
mead — Quite well. I've been hunting
for him this morning.
hol. — I need not say, Mr. Mead, that
the greater amount of publicity given
my resignation, the less chance I have
of securing another church or opportu-
nity to preach a Sunday supply now
and then. It is enough to be told that
one is old and useless without it being
published broadcast in the newspapers.
Many, no doubt, will understand the
cause, but to have it verified in the pub-
lic print is but to emphasize the un-
happy truth.
mead — I appreciate that thoroughly,
Mr. Holton, and I may say that it
makes me all the more eager to have a
talk with Mr. Marvin before a line of
this is printed. As it stands now, we
have, or think we have, an exclusive.
If, however, any other reporter should
show up, can you say that I have
Drawn by D. S.Ross
Why can't i share, at least, some oe the burden "
336
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
agreed to give it to all the papers and
for them to see me? In this way your
interests will be best protected. Trust
me, won't you ? Both of you ?
hol. — I do.
anna — And I.
mead — You're very kind. If only I
could get hold of Mr. Marvin.
anna — You've only another instant
to wait, for I hear the Marvin auto.
(Going to window.) Yes, here he comes.
hod. — I'll admit him. Excuse me,
Mr. Mead. (Goes out door left.)
mead — It's my opinion, Miss Holton,
that your uncle is receiving very
shabby treatment. I'm going to tell
Mr. Marvin so, whether he likes it or
not.
anna — Are you? Do you dare? I
wish that I might. I wanted to, very
much, but Uncle Peter wouldn't let me.
Marvin and Holton are heard talking
off the stage.
mead — I am not an intentional eaves-
dropper, Miss Holton, but it seems that
your uncle and Mr. Marvin are talking
over a real estate transaction. Just
what does that mean?
anna — That Mr. Marvin is at uncle
again to sell this property. You see, it
doesn't belong to the parish corpora-
tion, but to my uncle. If you noticed,
the location is rather attractive, and it
may appeal to Mr. Marvin as a possible
home for his daughter when she mar-
ries.
mead — Is it in the market?
anna — No, indeed. (Then with seri-
ous thought.) It wasn't yesterday, but
it may be to-morrow.
mead — I shouldn't worry about that,
Miss Holton. (Pausing.) What a cosey
place for two — I mean three. That is —
I beg pardon, Miss Holton — you'll for-
give me, won't you? I didn't mean,
er
anna — I have often heard of the fer-
tile imaginations of newspaper men;
now I'm quite sure it's true. You'll ex-
cuse me if I take a short walk in the
garden. The truth of it is I am not the
least anxious to see Mr. Marvin.
mead — But you'll come back?
anna — Very soon ; after I have wres-
tled with and thrown my temper. I
hope you will enjoy your interview.
(Exit right.)
mead (looking after her) — Not so
much as if you were to remain. Jove,
but there's a pretty girl. I wonder how
her uncle would like to have me in his
congregation !
Marvin and Holton enter left.
mar. — What a mighty pretty place
this is, Holton. (Seeing Mead.) Some
one here. (To Mead.) Good morning,
sir; I'm afraid I haven't had the pleas-
ure of meeting Mr. Mr. — er — (offering
to shake hands with Mead.)
mead — Mead of the News-Herald.
(The two shake hands.)
mar. — Oh, yes, I know you now.
mead — You ought to; I've been try-
ing to interview you for several hours.
mar. — Interview me? I can't see
what business you could have with me.
mead — Mr. Holton was' much sur-
prised to see me, too. I explained to
him, as I do to you, that we heard in
the News-Herald office that there was a
row in Trinity parish and we wanted
to get the facts.
mar. — A row? Ridiculous! And fur-
thermore, whatever Trinity parish may
do cannot and does not concern the
newspapers.
mead — I'm quite satisfied there isn't
any row, Mr. Marvin, but I don't agree
with you as to Trinity's freedom from
obligations to the newspapers. When-
ever there is a lecture or a bazaar, a
special musical program on Sunday,
not to mention the celebration of some
important church anniversary, it is al-
ways thought imperative by the church
officers and members that the news-
papers chronicle the event. In fact, it
is expected that they should be liberal
with their space. And they usually are.
But when some news comes up, some
happening of live interest, the news-
papers are promptly told to mind their
own business.
hod. — There need be no discussion,
gentlemen. I have told Mr. Mead of
the action of the wardens and vestry.
He will, I am sure, print nothing sen-
sational or untrue — merely the facts.
mar. (with sudden anger) — You can-
not print my letter. You have no right
AT WHITSUNTIDE
337
to. Holton had no business to give it
to you.
mead — He didn't give it to me and
I'm not going to print it, Mr. Marvin.
hol.— I wish to assume the blame,
gentlemen, for whatever misunder-
standing there may be.
mar. — Holton, you should be more
careful ; you can't trust these reporters.
hol. — I have yet to find one of them
I could not trust.
mead — Thank you, Mr. Holton.
anna (enters from right) — Pardon
me, but, Uncle Peter, Jenkins has heard
that something has happened. It seems
to have fallen upon him like a blow.
Won't you go to him and tell — if only
for a minute. Mr. Mead and Mr. Mar-
vin will excuse you long enough for
that. Come; I'll help you break the
news to him.
hol. — Perhaps I had better; you'll
pardon me, gentlemen.
mar. — Not at all; indulge yourself in
a bit of sentiment. But don't be too
long; I'm in a hurry.
hol. — Very well.
Hol. and Anna exeunt right.
mead — I'm glad we're alone for a
minute, Mr. Marvin.
mar. — See here, young man, I believe
you have an idea that you can bulldoze
me.
mead — No, Mr. Marvin ; you're
wrong. I don't follow the same tactics
as you; I have a straight line of at-
tack.
mar. — I guess I'm not far off when I
say that you are going to tell me my
business, and say I had no right to in-
vite Holton to resign. Now, look here,
Mead. You know Holton is all right
and that I'd be the last man to do him
an injury. If you insist upon printing
the letter, you'll make it look as if we
had turned Holton out, when, as a mat-
ter of fact, we've kept him here for
years for charity. You know what the
people want in the churches to-day;
they don't want an old fossil for a
preacher when they can get a young
and vigorous man for the place.
mead — Indeed. I had always under-
stood that churches stand for humanity
and Christianity.
mar. — Well, business is one thing
and charity is another. How is a
church to grow with an old fuddy-
duddy in charge of it?
mead — Of course, if you're running
an amusement enterprise, a sort of
sanctified picture show for Sunday
mornings and evenings, you've got to
consider those things. If, on the other
hand, you are preaching the gospel of
the Nazarene, or at least trying to, it's
not the same. I know clergymen, old
ones, whose faces shine with what I be-
lieve to be the reflection of divine glory.
I think Mr. Holton is one of them.
When a man's old he isn't worth much
according to the standard that you
have set up, Mr. Marvin; but when a
man, whether he's been a minister or a
laborer, or whatever his calling — when
that man has shown that he has be-
come worn out in his work for some-
body else, is that the time to turn him
out? You forget that Mr. Holton and
many men like him have prayed at the
bedside of a young mother; have chris-
tened that child ; have married it, and
maybe buried it.
At any rate, they have shared in the
sorrows and joys of many, many fami-
lies. They have gone out at night, at the
risk of their health, to minister to the
poor and sick; they have denied them-
selves that they might give to missions.
And what is the reward of this sacri-
fice? The poorhouse?
mar. — You're young ; too boyish and
sentimental. You don't understand.
mead — Mr.' Marvin, do you remem-
ber the first time we met?
mar. — Can't say I do, exactly.
mead — It was two .years ago last
September.
mar. — Was it?
mead — Yes. You were in the News-
Herald office — in the city editor's room.
You remember that you were there to
keep out a story about your son?
mar. — My son? What has that to do
with it?
mead — You had found out that I had
dug up a first-page story about the
boy's pranks that summer; how he had
forged your name to $30,000 worth of
"checks ; had broken off his engagement
338
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
with a Philadelphia young woman;
was chasing chorus girls, and was then
about to be disowned or banished by
you? Pretty hot yarn, as I recall it.
mar. — I see through you now ; you
want to blackmail me.
mead (indignantly) — Mr. Marvin,
you know that's a lie. You remember
you tried the same bluff when you
asked to have the story suppressed.
You said you were president of this,
director of that and so on, didn't you?"
And the city editor told you the
News-Herald didn't give a damn for you
or your money, didn't he? Well, that
goes double now.
mar. — What do you want, then?
mead — I want nothing except to
have this story of Trinity parish
straightened out.
mar. — What are you going to do?
mead — I? Nothing; you're going to
do it.
MAR. 1 ?
mead — Mr. Marvin, the plea upon
which you succeeded in getting the
News-Herald to suppress that story
about your son, Jack Marvin, was char-
ity — pure charity. You said, after you
had found that bullying wouldn't work,
that it would kill his mother, who was
then very ill ; that it meant the ruina-
tion of your daughter's future and your
son's future, and, in a measure, your
own. That's what you said, wasn't it?
You pointed out where there is too lit-
tle good done in this great, sordid,
commercial world, didn't you? You
thought the milk of human kindness
should flow more freely from the
breasts of twentieth-century men and
women, didn't you? I remember that
you really made an impression. We
took you seriously.
mar. — Stop, Mead, stop. You've made
out your case. I've come pretty near
to your way of thinking in the last two
minutes. I'm not as bad as you would
have me, but I. will agree that I have
been thoughtless.
mead — I haven't wished to rub it in,
Marvin, but when those things are
brought home they are more clearly
understood.
mar. — Mead, I promise you this: I'll
see what can.be done. In fact, I'll take
the initiative. But, 'sh, here come the
Holtons.
Anna and Hoi. (enter left). Meade
sits at desk and starts writing. Marvin
goes up to Anna and Holton.
mar. — Jenkins is all right, I hope?
hoi,. — Pie seems to think that my go-
ing means that he must also leave. I
assured him that such is not the case.
It isn't, is it, Mr. Marvin?
mar. — Why, no; of course not; we'll
make some provision for him.
HOiy. — Jenkins is very vigorous for
one of his years ; very vigorous. Fur-
ther than that, he would be invaluable
to my successor, to whom he can teach
the ropes, so to speak.
mar. — We won't call it settled yet.
The fact is the parish hasn't heard
much about it yet. No meeting of the
corporation has been called and there's
really nothing definite. Moreover, there
may be something come up which ne-
cessitates some little change. The fact
is ■
mead (who has just stopped writing
and blotted the paper) — Excuse me,
Mr. Marvin; your signature, please.
mar. — My signature? Oh, yes. (Signs
and shows a second later that he has
written his name without thinking.)
What is this, eh?
mead (without answering Marvin) —
Miss Plolton, Mr. Holton, I must go
back to the city. I believe there is a
train in a very few minutes. If you
should like to hear what my story in
substance will be, just listen to this
signed statement of Mr. Marvin. He
has given it to me to be published, with
some slight elaboration, in the News-
Herald. Here it is. (Reading.)
"Rev. Peter Holton, rector of Trinity
Episcopal Church in the suburban town
of Islington, is, after twenty-five years'
pastorate, to be made rector emeritus,
with full salary. His active duties will
terminate this month, after which he
and his niece, Miss Anna Holton, are
to make an extended European trip,
lasting a year or more. This statement
is made on the authority of Henry
Marvin, the well-known financier and
philanthropist, who is senior warden of
AT WHITSUNTIDE
339
Trinity parish and a large contributor
to its support."
That's right, Mr. Marvin; isn't it?
mar. — Er — er — yes — yes — that's
right, quite right.
hol. — Marvin, I thank you from the
bottom of my heart. Your kindness
overwhelms me.
anna — Thank you, Mr. Marvin ; you
are so good.
mar. — Not at all, not at all. It's a
very small thing, after all, and I was
glad to do it — very glad to do it.
hol. (turning to Mead) — You see
what a thoughtful friend I have in Mr.
Marvin.
m^ad (cordially and with no trace of
sarcasm) — Mr. Marvin knows what I
think of him.
mar. — Yes, yes, thank you. I must
be going now. I've got to send word
to the other members of the vestry.
hol.— If you must leave us, Marvin,
I'll walk along with you; at least as
far as your automobile.
mar. — First rate ; come ahead. Good
day, Miss Holton ; good day, Mr. Mead.
Come, Holton.
hol. — Excuse me just a moment, Mr.
Mead. (Exeunt Marvin and Holton.)
anna— I can scarcely believe it true.
mead — No doubt of it, Miss Holton.
. anna — I hope I am not ungrateful,
but I cannot grasp the change in Mr.
Marvin.
MEAD No.
anna — Had you ever met him before?
mead — Yes ; two years ago, when his
— when he came into our office on busi-
ness.
anna — Indeed ! Some day I hope to
hear more of your relations with Mr.
Marvin ; that is, if you'll call again, Mr.
Mead, won't you?
mead — Yes, thank you. (Picking up
his hat.) And now for the city. I hope
you feel that the man who solved the
difficult problem for your uncle is not
such a bad fellow, after all.
anna — I have a great mind to hug
him.
mead (looking off in direction of
Marvin) — Hurry up ; he hasn't gone
yet.
anna — I can't do that, but I'll give
him a rose instead. (Hands Mead a
rose.)
mead (gradually realizing the young
woman's attitude toward him) — Miss
Holton, do you mean me?
(Locomotive whistle heard off.)
anna — There's your train. You'll
have to run; there isn't another until
afternoon.
mead — Good-bye, Miss Holton.
hol. (enters left) — What, leaving us?
mead — Yes, Mr. Holton. Sorry, but
I must run. (Shaking hands with Hol.
and Anna.) Good-bye. (Exit Mead
left.)
anna (goes to window and looks
after Mead).
hol. (sits in armchair down center)
— A great 'blessing has come to us, my
child; hasn't it?
anna (she is so occupied she does not
hear).
hol. — Anna. (No answer.) Anna!
anna — Yes, uncle.
hol. — I was saying a great blessing
had come to us.
anna (still looking out of the win-
dow) — Yes ; isn't he a dear.
hol. — A dear? Your attitude has
changed. I'm glad of it; I always
thought you misjudged Mr. Marvin.
anna (almost screaming her surprise)
— Mr. Marvin a dear? (Quickly recov-
ering herself.) Oh, yes, of course.
(Still at window, but turning to audi-
ence with a roguish smile.) Dear Mr.
Marvin. •
CURTAIN.
Feeding " Oi<d Bob," back for the Eourth year
A Born Naturalist and His Work
By ELLA GILBERT IVES
IN freshness, in lively interest and in
originality nothing equals a child."
These are the words of Dr. Clif-
ton F. Hodge, professor of biology in
Clark University, and the key to his
career. It was by watching children
killing frogs in a Worcester pond,
twelve years ago, and thinking out a
plan to win them from their cruelty
and folly, that he was led to correlate
nature study and life. The insight to
child nature was deepened, and the fact
that original research is the breath of
its mental life confirmed by his experi-
ence with his own children. Roland,
one year old, planting a peach tree, and
four years later proudly harvesting a
peck of fruit from its goodly boughs,
showed him the value of individual
ownership as an incentive. Mazie, with
Roland, feeding her pet robin and ut-
tering this oracular sentence, "The most
important thing for a child to learn
34o
about birds is how to raise meal-
worms," set him to devising ways and
means of interesting other children in
the care and study of living things.
The outcome is a series of books — a
nature triology, the fundamental pur-
pose of which is to unite home and
school in a common interest by a bond
of utility and joy. The aim is "charac-
ter, will to do good, power to create
happiness"; the method, the natural
one — i. e., not being told, but finding
out for one's self. Thus, to quote Dr.
Hodge :
"A little girl of eight years has a pair
of pet bobwhites. She is anxious for
them to rear a brood and often asks,
'Why don't they lay some eggs?' She
is told, July 2, that if she would feed the
hen more insects it would probably be-
gin to lay; and she was asked to see if
she could not find out how many rose-
slugs the bird would eat in a day.
A BORN NATURALIST AND HIS WORK
341
"The child entered into the experi-
ment with great glee, and, interesting
to note, developed her own method at
the outset, which was to count the slugs
as she caught them in a tumbler, and
when she had one hundred she wrote
it down on a paper and emptied the
tumbler before her hungry pet, waited
until they were all eaten, and then ran
to the garden for another hundred.
Here are two definite questions in dy-
namic biology: How many rose-slugs
will a quail eat in a day? If she has
all the insects she wants, will she pro-
duce eggs? The child gains answers to
both. At night she shows us her rec-
ord — 1286 rose-slugs eaten in a day.
Fourth of July morning she is wild
with delight on finding the first tgg in
the nest.
"The example illustrates two points,
— a living thing as a force in nature
and the child learning by the active
method of research. Can the child ever
forget the day and the lesson? Multi-
ply now the work of a single bird by
the number in a species, or by the num-
ber we might have in the species, and
A YOUNG BEAU
342
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
Going chestnutting
we find ourselves in the presence of
powers and forces which could trans-
form the face of the earth, the human
values of which are beyond computa-
tion. Compared with these values, all
our Cripple Creeks and Klondikes are
but the small change of the hour. I
am wont to estimate that if, as a people,
we could learn the biology of this one
bird and be decent and civilized, enough
to give the species a chance to do its
work in nature, it would save us in in-
sect damage alone $500,000,000 a year.
In weed-seed destruction, food value of
surplus and sport, it might be worth
as much more. But no, instead of learn-
ing and utilizing our living resources,
we must senselessly exterminate them."
Mr. Hodge has instituted a better
way. For years, while carrying on pro-
fessional pursuits, he has taken recrea-
tion by experimenting with bobwhites
and ruffled grouse, domesticating both
on his own premises, with the end in
view of adding them finally to the na-
tional list of domestic fowl. For four
hundred years not a single species has
been added — a fact which magnifies the
importance of these experiments. The
taming of the young is easily accom-
plished. Before they are fairly out of
the shell they nestle in the hand.
By kindness and appeal to appetite
they are wholly tamed. Witness the
partridge chestnutting on Dr. Hodge's
knee, and the handsome cock deferring
his courtship for a tidbit from Mazie's
hand.
Both bird and child are in training
by the natural method. Study it fur-
ther. Note a partridge chick just out
in the world. "It tries hundreds, if not
thousands, of experiments : pecks at all
sorts of conspicuous objects; pecks at
the eye of a fellow, gets no satisfaction ;
pecks at a dewdrop, learns how water
tastes ; pecks at its own toes and tips
itself over; at its fellows' toes and tips
them over; is served likewise in its
turn ; learns that toes are not food. It
learns that some things taste good and
other things bad, and by'the end of the
day has solved the fundamental food
problems of the species."
How analogous this to the growth by
inquiry of the young child. To prolong
this period of research (why should it
ever cease?), and to save the child from
becoming a parasitic word-eater, is the
problem now engaging Dr. Hodge.
Not long ago he asked Sir William
Macdonald, now devoting his time and
his millions to elementary rural scien-
tific education, why he had turned to it
from university research. His eyes
twinkled as he replied : "The younger
the better; the younger the better. If
science is worth anything, the younger
we teach it the better. ... I did
begin with science in the university,
and I have no fault to find with that;
but I soon realized that if we made
science mean anything much to the
whole people, we must begin with the
boys and girls."
The foundation work of Dr. Hodge
is so vital, so essentially a growth, that
there is no break between the child and
the youth, the youth and the adult. By
rejecting all inquiries that do not re-
late to human welfare, all studies that
A BORN NATURALIST AND HIS WORK
343
have no equivalent in human values, he
keeps the interest and the mind alert
for continuous discovery. This gives
no narrow range of inquiry. Dr. Hodge
is himself a veritable octopus in his
grasp of subjects for research. "You
would not spend your life, then, upon
a single bug?" inquired a friend. "Not
unless it were the bug that affected hu-
manity," was his reply.
The mosquito comes so near to such
distinction that Dr. Hodge promotes
the study of its life history. Under his
leadership a public school in Worcester
aroused the community to rid the city
of countless pests breeding in the neg-
lected pools of Beaver Brook. At the
moment when the first great brood of
wrigglers was about to emerge, five
hundred children descended upon them
with oil cans, and performed a feat sur-
passing that of the magicians of Egypt.
Such was the enthusiasm generated by
this dynamic method, in both children
and parents, that it resulted in a valu-
able addition to the park waters of the
city.
In a friendly letter, Dr. Hodge writes :
"I want this kind of work — nature
study, civic biology — to go, go, go ! to
organize us into a 'paradise people/ and
give us more of a heaven on earth than
we can dream of. I simply see visions
and dream dreams of ideal homes and
ideal towns, ideal health and ideal edu-
cation, by day and night, and keep peg-
ging away; but my achievements com-
pared with my vision, — 'nascitur ridicu-
lus mils' " (his estimate, not ours).
Should Dr. Hodge add one useful
species to the nation's domestic wealth,
who could compute its value? But he
aims to add not only quail and grouse,
but the toad also — that good genius of
our garden, already at our doorstep on
.its way to domestication. No life study
is more fascinating to children than the
uncommon one of the common toad.
The tadpole stage throws them into
uproarious glee. "The tadpoles are
done," cried one such group ; now to
feed them gnats, red spiders, plant lice!
And the old toad — what a philanthro-
pist he is, refusing nothing insectivor-
A baker's dozen oe young partridges
144
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
ous, from mosquitoes to June bugs !
The child whose toad clears his tene-
ment room of cockroaches in a single
night will not be likely to stone his use-
ful partner. Dr. Hodge is on the right
road when he starts at the school-room.
"Nature and Life," his book for pri-
mary and grammar grades, throbs with
holy purpose to make ours a better
world. It begins with a definition that,
if accepted, will
r e v o 1 u t i onize
teaching: "Nature
study is learning
those things in na-
ture that are best
worth knowing, to
the end of d o i n g
those things that
make life most
worth the living."
Are laws inade-
q u a t e to protect
our diminishing
song-birds, our
vanishing game ?
"Whynot try pub-
lic education?", is
his demand.
Set the school
children to watch-
ing the sky for a
flock of passenger
pigeons, and, when
one is found, sur-
rounding it with a
living wall of ab-
solute protection.
Dr. Hodge was
reared on a Wis-
consin prairie, and
in boyhood days often heard the swish
of the wild pigeon's wing as it flew
over. His joy who can measure when
within a year he heard again that sound
on his own hilltop? So confident is he
that the passenger pigeon is not utterly
extinct that he is determined to track
the survivors. To restore this beauti-
ful and valuable species, once numbered
by the billion, to this continent were
no small service to render a nation.
Who will help Dr. Hodge to run it
down? But there must be no shooting,
even for the purpose of identification.
"Shoot a passenger pigeon!" he indig-
nantly responded to the suggestion.
"Never!"
Here is a professor of biology who
deals with living
"specimens";
makes science a
joyous land of dis-
covery ; takes a 1 1
outdoors f o r h i s
laboratory. The
air blows through
all that he says
and does.
The results are
vital and enrich-
ing. His students
become in turn
original investiga-
tors. One of them
collaborates with
Dr. Hodge in a
book now in press.
One takes for
the subject of her
M. A. thesis, "The
Relation of the
Cat to the Bird,"
and collects world-
wide data. An-
other studies ex-
perimentally "The
Cat as a Carrier of
Disease Germs."
Another is test-
ing the effect of a low percentage of
alcohol upon fowl — the fecundity of
eggs and the vigor of chicks. One is
turning her farm into a bird sanct-
uary.
Many are collecting food data. All
are adding something to the total of
human welfare.
Partridge drumming
The Maritime Provinces— III.
By WALTER MERRIAM PRATT
F
ROM this spotless town to Chat-
ham is forty miles. The road
lies through a vast forest and
J runs as straight- as if drawn by a
rule. It has been gradually im-
proved by the counties until it is very
fair. For miles we raced along, meet-
ing no other vehicle. At length in
the distance a black speck was seen
approaching. It was an automobile —
the first we had met for days. We
stopped out of mutual interest and curi-
osity in each other. The party was
from Amherst, and were returning
from a shooting trip in the Miramichi
county. They gave us much interesting
information, and at our replies as to
the weight of our car, its horse-power
and how far we had come, a murmur of
surprise rippled among them.
We had covered about thirty of the
forty miles to Chatham when a team
was encountered. The native held up
his hand when we were several hun-
dred yards away, the usual sign for us
to stop; a second man jumped down
and threw a blanket over the horse's
head. We then tried to pass, but in do-
ing so slid off the road into a ditch, and
the, two right wheels sank in soft clay
up to the hubs. In vain did we all get
out and push, but the wheels only spun
around, covering us from head to foot
with mud, and then settled back deeper,
deeper than ever. In vain did we try
to jack the car up and build a founda-
tion of rock under it. At last we had
to send the farmer four miles to his
barn for a block and tackle, with which
the car was pulled back on the road. It
was dark when we reached Chatham,
We had covered the one hundred and
thirty miles, in spite of our many de-
lays, over roads which were an awful
and we were dog-tired, hungry and cross.
strain on the springs, frame and tires,
to say nothing of ourselves ; but at last
we were at the Miramichi River and
the Gulf of St. Lawrence, and felt re-
lieved that we were not to push farther
north in the car, as the roads had con-
stantly grown rougher, and beyond
Chatham are almost too much for the
strongest and most powerful cars.
Chatham is the principal town in the
country known as Miramichi, which
covers a large area and embraces great
forests. Both Chatham and Newcastle
are on the banks of the Miramichi
River, near its mouth. Saw mills and
pulp mills are frequent between the
two towns, and there are several
smaller towns and villages, all owing
their existence to the timber industry.
It is to these towns that hunters
from different parts of Europe and
America start into the woods. The
fame of northern New Brunswick as a
hunting preserve is generally ackowl-
edged. The territory is alive with
moose, caribou, deer and bear, while
the streams and lakes are filled with
bass, trout and salmon.
It is against the law to carry a gun
in the woods between September fif-
teenth and November thirtieth with-
out first obtaining a license from the
Crown Lands office at Fredericton or
a county game warden. These licenses
cost fifty dollars and give the holder
right to kill one bull moose, one bull
caribou and two deer.
Many parties enter the woods by go-
ing up the Miramichi as far as it is
navigable, then on foot twenty to
thirty miles to a camp, each guide hav-
ing a particular territory he is familiar
with. Other parties drive from Chat-
ham or the several other towns and
villages where guides and requisite
345
346
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
supplies are secured, over the corduroy
roads as far as it is possible, and then
penetrate on foot to the deeper re-
cesses of the forests by trails cut
through the wilderness, over which no
horse could travel.
Among the interesting stories told
us of this country, that of the great fire
of 1825 stands out. The country for
hundreds of miles was laid bare, and
human beings and wild animals sought
refuge in the Miramichi River. It was
October, the crops were harvested for
ious to get back to the city as he was
to get into the woods.
It was with pleasant memories that
we left Chatham on a Friday morning
at exactly 7 :30 o'clock with determina-
tion to get as far back to civilization
during the day as it was possible. It
was a beautiful morning, the sun
shone, the cold, crisp, fresh air sang in
our ears, making our fur coats very
comfortable. We bowled along, bowing
and smiling at the natives by the road-
side. Everything seemed just right;
A DTRTY JOB UNDER THE MOST FAVORABLE CONDITIONS
the winter, and the suffering and loss
of life were great.
Most parties are in the woods from
two to three weeks. At first the free
and easy life appeals to the city man;
the clear, sharp air, the great stillness,
the wildness of everything, sends him
into ecstasy; but after a week or two
he commences to miss the morning
paper, wants his mail and thinks of
business or wonders how the market
is, and by the third week he is as anx-
the car ran as if it had the strength of
a giant; the country seemed to unfold
like a panorama. It was all too fine
to last. All at once we turned a bend
and came upon a lumber truck. It was
empty and the driver was seated on
the connecting pole between the two
pairs of wheels. We were upon the
team before we knew it, but by quick
work cleared it. As we came level with
the horses they bolted, the lumberman
who was driving, after balancing him-
THE MARITIME PROVINCES
347
A STYEE OE BARN THAT IS TYPICAL OF THE PROVINCES
self for a few rods, was thrown vio-
lently to the ground, and one of the
rear wheels went over his chest. He
lay a moment or two stunned with the
shock, while the horses galloped away,
dragging after them the swaying cart;
then, getting up, pale with fright and
anger, he gave us an awful look, ges-
ticulating violently, and ran after his
fast-disappearing team. We waited a
few moments, but as there was noth-
ing we could do we moved along. Oc-
casionally we found good stretches of
road and let her out to forty-five.
We stopped for a few moments at
St. Louis. Hardly a person whom we
met in this quaint French town could
understand English. The Catholic
Church was enormous, and a crucifix
twenty-five feet high stands in the
road as you enter the town. These rep-
resentations of Christ on the cross ap-
pear at intervals throughout the
country.
After Kingston was passed we lost
our way. We had gone some distance
when the road became grass-grown
and rutty and we were obliged to run
slowly. John stated that he knew we
were right, so on we pushed. Deeper
and deeper the wheels sank in the ruts.
We trusted John and he trusted the
machine to pull us through. After sev-
eral miles we rounded a curve and en-
countered a pair of bars. Down they
came and on we went, and at length
brought up on a great, flat marsh,
miles from anywhere. It was not so
easy to return, and twice did all hands
have to help to get the car out of a
hole in which it had sunk. We bore to
the left at the first cross-road, and,
after travelling for miles through the
wildest of country over the rough
wood roads, where no other automo-
bile had probably ever been, we
reached the town of Galloway. Other
than a puncture and a runaway horse,
the run to Shediac was uneventful.
We had covered the ninety-two
miles in six hours. At two thirty we
were on the road to Moncton, which
348
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
is good most of the way. The town is
approached from a hill, and on this
particular afternoon was being visited
by a heavy shower. The view pre-
sented a peculiar and grand sight. All
about the sun shone upon the fields,
but in Moncton we could see it was
raining, as they say, "cats and dogs."
We got our rain coats, but the storm
was over when we entered the town.
Moncton is an interesting place for
many reasons. It has about twelve
thousand population, being the second
largest city in New Brunswick, and is
growing very rapidly. The great
workshops of the Intercolonial Rail-
way have an important bearing on the
prosperity of the city. It seemed to
us an especially bright and imposing
place, partly due, no doubt, to our hav-
ing been so long in the woods.
Our first questions were: "When
will the bore come in?" It was due,
we found, in twenty minutes, thus sav-*
ing us hours of waiting, as no one
would think of leaving Moncton with-
out first having seen it, any more than
they would pass through Niagara and
not see the falls, or miss the pyramids
if they were in Egypt.
It is a bit difficult to accurately de-
scribe the bore to those who have not
seen it. It is, briefly, a wall or wave
of water which rushes up the Petitco-
diac River past the city twice each
twenty-four hours. It varies in height
from three to ten feet, and its approach
can be heard miles away. At low tide
the salt water leaves the river, and it
becomes nothing but a narrow stream
or channel of fresh water in the centre
of a valley formed by sloping banks
of terra-cotta colored mud, which ex-
tend a long distance on either side.
When the tide returns the empty river
is filled in six hours, or about one foot
of rise a minute. The rush is often at
eight to ten miles an hour. One min-
ute you have before you a broad, deep
valley, with boats dry-docked, as it
were; a few moments later a majestic
river, a mile across, with ships floating
in forty-five to fifty feet depth of
water at high tide.
Prosperous and attractive Farms are everywhere to be seen
THE MARITIME PROVINCES
349
The explanation of the tidal phenom-
enon lies in the fact that the Atlantic
tides move along- the New England
coast, and, meeting the peninsula of
Nova Scotia, are forced into the upper
and narrow part of the Bay of Fundy,
causing the rapid rise and great height.
It thus enters the Petitcodiac River
twenty-five miles below Moncton, roll-
ing inward in a tidal wave.
We ran the machine out onto a
wharf, a look over the edge of which
made us dizzy; here and there lay a
boat on dry land. All at once there was
a kind of rumble in the distance, as if
would be fair, but the sun sank behind
a bank of treacherous-looking clouds.
The effect was fine; the black clouds
looked as if they were lined with gold,
and formed the shapes of great, black
sea gulls.
It was nearly dark when we reached
Petitcodiac, but as we approached it
stood out strikingly in the valley and
looked an imposing town, but turned
out to be an ordinary and dirty village
with a very poor inn. Partly from this
reason, and partly because we looked
for rain the next day, we decided to run
to Sussex in the evening. Accordingly,
A heavy car and" New Brunswick roads are a hard test on tires
of a railway train. The noise grew
louder and louder, and then we could
see a great white wall around a bend
in the river, and almost before we could
believe our eyes, went rushing past.
We had made over one hundred
miles during the day and were at last
in a real live city, with a good show
advertised; but, as one of the party
wished to catch the Boston boat at St.
John on Saturday night, we pushed on
to Petitcodiac.
The shower had cleared and a rain-
bow gave us hopes that the morrow
after dinner we made the start. The
most direct road, we learned, was un-
safe. Only ten days before an auto had
attempted to go over it and was stuck
in the mud, we were told. We, there-
fore, planned to follow the Pollet River,
then over the mountains and up the
iPenobsquis Valley. It was rather a
foolhardy trip to take at night, but the
thought of being hung up in Petitco-
diac by a storm drove us to it. Every-
thing went smoothly for a while, our
great acetylenes glaring ahead giving
us ample warning, and at times John
350
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
found stretches where he could let her
out to twenty. After running for miles
without seeing a house or meeting any
pedestrians we came upon a party of
three returning from Friday night
meeting and learned we were miles out
of our way. We were near Elgin Cor-
ner, and should have left the river at
Pollet River Mills and gone up through
the Notch. Back we went, and up we
climbed steep, narrow roads, which
seemed to be strapped on the side of
the hills. It was a wonderfully fearful
sensation to be motoring through this
notch by moonlight. Hundreds of feet
several sheep. We could not stop; it
was impossible to turn to the right,
while three feet to the left meant a
drop of one hundred feet and sure
death. There was one instant made up
of lightning impressions and it was
all over. We struck the sheep and
brought up against a tree on the very
edge of the road. For a moment we sat
perfectly still, our very toes turned up.
Those in back did not know what we
had struck. As we turned the curve,
all we could see of the sheep were their
eyes, which in the darkness looked
like so many electric lights ; and but
AFTER THE MlRAMICHI COUNTRY IS REACHED THE MEANS OE TRANSPORTATION
BECOME PRIMITIVE
below lay a beautiful valley, through
which flowed the Penobsquis River,
flashing diamonds beneath the moonlit
heavens. There were times with but a
few inches between us and eternity.
The road was good, but the thickening
clouds indicated rain, which would
mean a stop at the first house, as the
most adventurous would not attempt
to motor over these roads if wet. We
were pretty well through the notch;
the moon was hidden behind a cloud,
and our lamps shut the night down
upon us in inky blackness, when sud-
denly, circling a curve, we came upon
for our lights shining on them for an
instant as we struck, it would be a
mystery, as they disappeared over the
edge; and by the time we had come to
realize we were not mangled corpses,
were out of sight, starting in their
stampede a sort of landslide which
continued to rumble beneath us for
some minutes.
The balance of our run to Sussex was
uneventful, with the exception of the
rear wheels breaking through a culvert
with no damage, and the encounter of
an occasional polecat. These fetid ani-
mals would run ahead of us in the road,
THE MARITIME PROVINCES
351
A typical French-Canadian viixA.GE street
nd in one case it took a well-directed
hot from a Smith & Wesson to clear
he way.
After level ground was again reached
jive encountered several "electric light
plants," as we named the herds of
heep. Twice it started in to rain, and
he last few miles were wet and slip-
>ery. We reached Sussex at midnight,
having been on the road since sunrise
that morning and covered nearly two
hundred miles. We woke the landlord
up at the Depot House and secured a
place to sleep; the car, however, we
had to leave outside. We had not been
in the hotel five minutes when it came
on to rain again — a perfect deluge this
time. A little later some one was heard
352
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
tampering with the machine, which
was in the rear of the building, under
our windows. The supposed thief was
promptly covered with a revolver and
ordered to throw up his hands. We
were rather disappointed when it
proved to be John, who had found shel-
ter for the car under the carriage sheds
at the meeting house.
True to our expectations, it was rain-
ing hard the next morning, but in spite
of the inclemency of the weather, with
the top and sides up, we set forth, de-
termined to reach St. John on sched-
uled time, but soon we were saying
"Never again for us." The roads were
inches deep with mud, and in spite of
the top, glass shield and our raincoats
the wet somehow beat through. We
had five chains on each tire, but we
skidded from side to side, and an eight-
mile gait was the best we could make.
About half-way we had a blow-out, and
had to patch the shoe with a piece of
leather belting. We then put in the
only remaining inner tube. We had
many exciting incidents and one or two
narrow escapes from serious smash-
ups, but after our hair-raising trip of
the night before they seemed quite
ordinary.
W T e entered St. John, or "Singent,"
as the natives seemed to pronounce it,
on a fine road overlooking Kennebe-
casis Bay and through Riverside. The
latter is the aristocratic suburb of St.
John, and even on this wet and dismal
day it looked attractive.
The last two miles into the city was
a macadam road, and we gave the na-
tives a close and realistic imitation of
a Vanderbilt cup race. By two o'clock
we had registered at the Royal Hotel,
cleaned up and were ready for lunch,
but first telegraphed to Boston for new
tires.
We were all familiar with St. John
and some of us had friends, so it almost
seemed like getting home. The city
has an interesting history extending
back to the days of the Acadians,
when the French flag waved from the
forts.
In 1877 it was almost totally de-
stroyed by fire, but is larger to-day
than ever before. Like Halifax, it is
built on the sides of a hill and has a
fine harbor.
The patriotic citizen of St. John, in
an endeavor to lift from his town the
veil of obscurity, states many facts to
show how progressive it is and how
superior it is to Halifax, its rival.
He points out many interesting things,
but the city's chief bid for fame lies in
the Reversing Falls. The name de-
scribes them. The phenomenon is
easily understood when the nature of
the river in reference to its outlet is
understood. The River St. John flows
over four hundred and fifty miles be-
fore it empties into the Bay of Fundy.
With its tributaries it drains millions
of acres in Maine, Quebec and New
Brunswick, and is emptied into the sea
through a rocky chasm not over five
hundred feet wide. The tides at St.
John have an average rise of twenty-
six feet. At high tide the sea has a
descent of fifteen feet into the river,
and at low tide the river has a like fall
into the sea. Only at half-tide is the
river navigated in safety. At other
times a wild tumult of the waters takes
place, through which many have given
their lives in an attempt to pass.
All Sunday it rained in torrents, and
reports of floods came in from every
direction. On Monday our tires ar-
rived, and at three o'clock we set out,
in spite of the downpour which still
continued. We followed the St. John
River to Westfield, which route af-
forded a continuous panorama of beau-
tiful scenery. It was dark when we
left Westfield, but we continued out to
Welsford, it taking four hours to cover
the thirty miles, owing to the terrible
condition of the road. We left at nine
next morning, and we reached the capi-
tal of New Brunswick at two, after a
hard run of eighty-two miles in the
rain over dangerous roads. The water
in many places being fifteen inches
deep on them.
Fredericton has a population of 8,000
and is located on the St. John River,
which is navigable all the way to the
ocean. It is the cathedral city of the
Church of England in the province,
THE MARITIME PROVINCES
353
containing military barracks and the
University of New Brunswick.
From Fredericton we pushed on in
successive days to Dumfries and
Woodstock, where we crossed the fron-
tier into Houlton in the State of Maine.
All this time the rain continued. In
many places the culverts had been
washed away, and we had to stop and
build temporary bridges. The machine
often sank in mud and water to the
hubs, and it is simply wonderful how
it ever stood the strain.
The sun came out the next morning,
and never had it been so welcome. The
run was to Bangor. We reached Mat-
|tawamkeag at one thirty, lunched, and
lleft at two thirty. About six miles out
jjof Old Town we got stuck in the mud,
Sand it took a block and tackle and four
■horses to get us out, so that it was bed-
[Itime when we slid into Bangor.
The next day we made Portland,
]|from which city it is an easy day's run
to Boston. We had fine weather and
enjoyed the home stretch immensely.
This part of our journey is too well
known to relate in detail. We fairly
flew over the roads, up hill and down.
First, we would be in a valley, with
our vision limited; then, suddenly
mounting a hill, an enormous view
would spread out before us, disclosing
villages and church spires sharply out-
lined in the clear, crisp air. We sped
through village after village, all alike —
one long street, patient teams of yoked
oxen, a few loungers about the gen-
eral stores, a horse and team or two —
all passed in a jiffy, as if one were
seated in a moving-picture theatre, and
then out again on the narrow country
road, with trees and telegraph poles
flying by.
With our safe arrival in Boston we
had the laugh on many of our friends,
who predicted, and undoubtedly ex-
pected, that we could never make the
trip we had. Two hundred and sixty-
one cities, towns and villages were vis-
ited, giving our party a pretty thor-
ough knowledge of the country and
natives of the Maritime Provinces and
the State of Maine.
A PASTORAL
By CLINTON SCOLLARD
Hushed is the harsh staccato of the noon ;
Hid in the hazel coppice a lone bird
Dwells lingeringly upon one liquid word,
Save this adown the air there drifts no tune.
The wandering hill-breezes are aswoon ;
The pines that rhythmic in the morning stirred,
Like viol chords, are lifeless, and the blurred,
Dim birchen aisles have stilled their whispered rune.
The chattering harvesters have ceased to chide
Where the ripe wheat in drowsy windrows gleams ;
The far off murmur of the chafing tide
Like an old song but half remembered seems ;
And vagrant Pan, his reed-pipes cast aside,
Is drugged with the deep opiate of dreams !
^Another Offspring of Old Dorchester
By D. ELFLEDA CHANDLER
THAT the importance of a town,
in the social or commercial
scales of the state to which it
belongs, is not always indicated by the
number of its inhabitants, is no more
fully illustrated than in the case of
Stoughton, Mass., a town set apart
from Dorchester nearly two centuries
since.
Situated just beyond the shadow of
Great Blue Hill, and enjoying, with
Sharon, the most elevated site between
Boston and Taunton, Stoughton,
mother of both Sharon and Canton, is
a town which Massachusetts may well
look upon with pride, whose healthful
location is portrayed by the longevity
of its citizens, many of whom have
nearly reached the century mark.
Good air, good water, and good
neighbors) when coupled with excellent
schools, liberal churches and numerous
social orders, form a combination
which makes for comfort to the citi-
zens of any town. Add to these a
scenic beauty which is not excelled by
any town in Eastern Massachusetts
and you have a faint idea of the attrac-
tions of Stoughton.
When, in 1726, this budding town
decided to free itself from the parent
rule, its people chose Stoughton for a
title in honor of William Stoughton,
then Lieutenant-Governor of Massa-
chusetts.
According to the one requirement
made in the incorporating statute, a
"learned Orthodox minister, of good
conversation," in the person of Rev.
Sam'l Dunbar, was settled within the
first year of the town's independence.
The descendants of this first minister's
followers, together with the new
comers who have cast their lot in this
thrifty little town, to-day require the
services of six able pastors, of as many
different creeds, in a like number of
beautiful and well supported churches.
Few indeed are the towns in New
England where the social, religious,
and commercial activities are more in
harmony than in Stoughton.
Very little of that class distinction
which is proving such a drawback to
many country towns, owing to the
jealousy aroused, is to found here, on
account of the comparative equality
of the citizens. No very poor and no
very wealthy residents are located in
Stoughton. Nearly all of the property
holders are engaged in the active pur-
suit of some business or profession,
while those employed by them are
held in respect and high esteem. Few
are yet able to retire from the battle
for gold, and it matters little, to the
Stoughtonite, what position his brother
holds in the ranks, so long as all are
engaged in a common cause.
During the year just ended the more
energetic and public-spirited faction of
business and professional men, headed
by Dr. W. O. Faxon, Senator to the
Massachusetts Legislature from this
district, organized themselves into a
Board of Trade, which now numbers
150 members.
This body, though young, has al-
ready made its power very apparent in
the furtherance of the commercial in-
terests of the town.
No better example of the unity be-
tween the public organizations than
that shown in the Industrial Exposi-
tion, held by the Board of Trade in
the Town Hall of Stoughton, in Febru-
ary of the present year, can be cited.
For a town of six or seven thou-
sand inhabitants an Industrial Expo-
sition would seem, to the general
355
356
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
public, a most stupendous undertak-
ing', yet Stoughton speaks with pride
of the treriiendous success of the
"Fair," when nearly $2000 was realized
clear of all expenses, which amounted
to some $600, bringing the donation up
to more than forty cents per capita.
Schools, clubs and manufactories,
aided by church circles and every
public-spirited citizen, joined heart and
hand in the cause, until the great Town
Hall presented a scene not unlike
Boston's Mechanics Building at the
time of a Food Fair.
The Chelsea Braiding Company ex-
hibited a large line of elastic web-
bing, braid, and cord used upon sur-
gical instruments, besides fancy weaves
used in ladies' belts, gentlemen's sus-
penders, etc.
The Stoughton Mills gave an in-
teresting display of wool shoddies, and
the different stages of development
through which the materials pass be-
fore being rewoven into cloth for storm
skirts, heavy cloaks, men's suiting, and
horse blankets.
Upham Brothers, who are all that
Stoughton industries only were rep-
resented, yet the entire building was
literally crammed with booths and
stalls.
Upon the first floor the Stoughton
Rubber Company exhibited a large line
of fine rubber garments, including rain
coats, hats, and reefers of all weights,
while the process used in their manu-
facture was illustrated by rubber in
the different stages of refinement, from
a large cube of the crude material
down to the finest sheeting.
is left of the many shoe manufacturer
who once caused Stoughton to b
named as a "shoe town," had turned on
corner of the building into a display
room for a complete and extensiv
line of high-grade foot-wear. Men'
shoes of every size and descriptior
color and last were here shown, whil
drummers for this line of mercharJ
dise hovered about, making mend
notes and calculations, for Upharl
Brothers manufacture shoes for th
trade only.
ANOTHER OFFSPRING OF Of, I) DORCHESTER
357
The Belcher Last Company, whom
j'| Stoughton claims to be the most ex-
tensive manufacturers of lasts in the
world, also occupied a large space, in
which were shown lasts in all stages of
I completion, from the rude block down
to the finished article.
Chas. Stretton & Son exhibited a
j| large line of ribbed under-garments
and knit goods, arranged within a
|| booth which was gaily decked in
j! colored crepe paper, like many of its
i neighbors.
French and Ward, who manufacture
eiderdown and krinkledown, which
W7-;.
work was shown, together with that
used on automobile tops, and wearing-
apparel worn by the joy riders.
The Packard Dressing* Company ex-
hibited a variety of shoe dressings and
polishes, which attracted much atten-
tion . from the fact that many of the
articles displayed had been often used
by the interested parties without a
thought of their place of manufacture.
Known only by their title, they were
purchased from the retailer without a
glance at the name of Stoughton,
which appeared under the maker's
name.
■: J'
-f //<■
tw^
^ //4**
<f
,y.
/:
<*■<??****&■
x-
The first record oe the oldest musicae society in the United States
originated with them, gave a large dis-
play of baby blankets, carriage robes,
and other woolen, goods, including
many styles of fancy dress material
and suiting.
The Plymouth Rubber Company, a
firm which has rapidly come to the
front during the past decade, until
they claim to be the largest manu-
facturers of rubberized cloth in the
world, displayed samples of the ma-
terials which they coat, from the finest
silks to the heaviest cloth. Rubber
rolls, heels, and other moulded rubber
Another festooned nook, which
called forth many exclamations of ap-
proval, was the display of portraits and
photographs by Mr. Geo. A. Gerard,
whose work has become the admiration
of his townspeople.
Space forbids that we enumerate the
countless exhibitions of smaller pro-
portions, such as the box and incubator
display of L. P. French Company, the
tame bees of Mr. Henry Britton and the
illuminating apparatus of the Edison
Electric Company.
One other feature of the exposition,
358
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
which held the attention of the out-
sider, was the plan for an enormous
shoe factory, and a small city, as yet
but a plan, existing on paper only,
which, in the near future, unless we
mistake the ability of the organized
Stoughtonites, will be a helpful reality
to Norfolk County.
Representative H. E. Holbrook is
the promoter of this proposition, by
which the townspeople shall build the
factory and develop the surrounding
country until they can offer homes to
seven hundred shoe workers within a
short distance of the mill in which they
are ernployed. When all is in readi-
ness they intend to offer free rental,
tions which can hardly be called vil-
lages, but are better described as neigh-
borhoods.
West Stoughton, the location of two
factories, has the largest number of
homes outside of the centre or town
proper.
North Stoughton boasts a square
and one church. South Stoughton is
the home of well-to-do farmers, while
the section known as Dry Pond is the
birth-place of another business enter-
prise.
About twenty-five years ago two
owners of neighboring farms upon
which pop-corn was extensively grown
entered into partnership and put upon
Swan's tavern, butet by Boston and Taunton Stage Co.
or, perhaps, give the factory outright
to a reliable firm who will undertake
the manufacture of shoes here.
The site which is responsible for
this plan is located very near the South
Stoughton station of the N. Y., N. H.
& H. Railroad, in a level, open country
now occupied only by scattered farms.
During the four days of the exposi-
tion a carefully selected program of
amusement was furnished and on the
evening of the third day Governor
Draper, with some members of his
staff, lent the dignity of their presence
and encouraging words, to the affair.
Stoughton is divided into five see-
the market shelled pop-corn in pack-
ages. Later they admitted another
partner and took the firm name of
Smith, Clapp & Gay. Their business!
prospered and within a few years they,
were obliged to buy corn from their!
neighbors in order to supply cus-
tomers. The convenience of the!
shelled corn was at once recognized!'
by the consumer, and to-day these!
originators of package pop-corn buy in|
car-load lots from Western growers,!
and sell only to the wholesaler. One
storehouse in which the corn is kept?
has a capacity of one hundred tons
Thus it may be seen that even the
An attractive group oe churches
360
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
Photograph by Geo. Gerard
vSTOUGHTON SQUARE, SHOWING SITE OF EIRST CHURCH
farmers of Stoughton are more enter-
prising than some of their neighbors
in large towns.
Ponds and rivers abound in Stough-
ton, which seems to be blessed, be-
yond the average town, with beauti-
ful walks, drives, and woodland nooks
where summer breezes cordially invite
one to stray, and watch their antics
among the trembling leaves.
Not far from Dry Pond, towards the
Centre, Britton's Pond furnishes
power for a small factory which has
remained in the possession of one
family and in continuous operation for
more than sixty years.
Three printing presses find support
in Stoughton, those used in the pub-
lication of two weekly newspapers, the
"Sentinel" and "Record," and one en-
tirely devoted to job work, known as
the Pequa Press.
Near the source of Salisbury Brook,
which flows through Stoughton and
Brockton into the Taunton River,
stands an old landmark which claims
the attention of many visitors to
Stoughton. This interesting structure
is known as Swan's Tavern, built in
1807 by the Boston and Taunton Stage
Company, and presided over by Land-
lord Capt. Elisha Swan, who caused
this "half-way house" to become most
popular as a centre for sleighing and
dancing parties, as well as a comfort-
able resting place for travelers. The
coming of the railroad in 1835 robbed
the old tavern of its principal support,
and to-day the house, which has been
the scene of much revelry in olden
times, is but the quiet, peaceful abode
of a New England farmer. An auto-
graph upon one of its window panes,
dated October 26, 181 1, is the only in-
dication of its one-time friends.
The square, which constitutes the
shopping district of Stoughton, is un-
usually attractive, while the buildings
surrounding the same are much more
beautiful than many a large town can
boast.
About the first structure to claim
the attention of the visitor, who enters
by trolley, is the handsome Town
House, whose massive brick walls, or-
namented with fine granite, rise two
and one-half stories to a slated roof,
above which Old Glory constantly
ANOTHER OFFSPRING OF OLD DORCHESTER
361
waves, while velvet lawns, gemmed
with trees and shrubs, relieve the gray
outlines of graveled driveways.
Across the square to the left, a
church, where Universalists congre-
gate, points its gilded spire, like a
guiding finger, upward; while the site
of Stoughton's first house of worship
is marked by a granite stone on the
green that stretches between the
church and street.
Beyond this is seen the Public
Library, whose exquisite beauty is a
triumph of architectural skill, even to
the pearl-like lanterns which surmount
the marble stairs at the entrance.
Dedicated in 1904, the style is strictly
modern. A visit to the interior but
increases one's admiration, for the fix-
tures and furnishings fully justify the
anticipations aroused by the exterior.
Some over 11,000 volumes are
neatly arranged about the shelves
while the reading-rooms are filled with
magazines and newspapers.
Among the social organizations the
oldest and, perhaps, widest known is
the old Stoughton Musical Society,
which is doubtless the first of its kind
to be organized in the United States.
This club begun to hold meetings as
early as 1762, when it consisted chiefly
of the First Parish Church Choir
under the leadership of Capt. Samuel
Talbot. Not until 1786, however, did
it become a recognized organization,
when it was made up of the best male
singers in all the churches of Stough-
ton. They met but twice each year,
on May Training Day and Christmas,
but their fame soon spread abroad
until the mother town, Dorchester, be-
came jealous of their popularity, chal-
lenging them to a contest with her
own talent. The meeting was arranged
in 1790 and Stoughton, with twenty
selected male voices, unaided by in-
strumental accompaniment, easily won
from Dorchester, in spite of the sup-
port given the latter by noted Boston
singers, female voices and bass viol.
Even the defeated musicians were
forced to admit the superiority of the
winners.
Some time later female voices were
admitted to the meeting, which has
occurred but once each year since
1825, generally on Christmas day,
until recent years, when the date was
changed to January first.
The one hundredth anniversary of
this society was held in Stoughton
Town House, on Nov. 7, 1886, attended
by the Governor andothernotedpeople.
Wai/ter Swan block, Stoughton square
362
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
Photograph by G<
Residence oe Geo. B. Belcher, Seaver street
There are now about five hundred
members, one hundred of whom, with
an orchestra of twelve pieces, accepted
the invitation to sing at the Chicago
Exposition in 1893, when they were the
only New England organization to
respond, although several others were
bidden and at first intended to appear.
All expenses were met by the Society
and the success of their work sent their
praises far and wide.
The object of the order is to pre-
serve from oblivion the work of our
earliest native composers.
Members of the Stoughton Musical
Society are now to be found in many
other towns around Stoughton. Joseph
Belcher, its president, resides in Ran-
dolph, as does its present chorister,
Nelson Mann. Vice-president R. T.
Pratt lives in Holbrook, vice-chorister
C. G. Faunce is found in North Abing-
ton and trustee Geo. W. Porter in
Avon. Trustee K. R. Clifford calls
Stoughton home, as does the secretary
and treasurer, E. A. Jones, who is
one of the most active members, being
a most ardent lover of music, which is
his profession.
Another society whose influence has
done much for the public good of
Stoughton, and which has raised the
social standard of the town to a high
position, morally, is the Chicataubut
Club, named for old Chief Chicataubut,
the first chief to sign a treaty of peace
with the English.
This club, which was at first a
gentleman's order, was incorporated
under the laws of Massachusetts No-
vember 23, 1903, for the purpose of
establishment and maintenance of a
place for reading-rooms, libraries, and
social meetings.
Buying the Atherton Estate, located
just beyond the Public Library, they
converted the old mansion into a club
house, whose appointments and fur-
ANOTHER OFFSPRING OF OLD DORCHESTER
363
nishings are all that could be desired.
Reception-rooms, reading-rooms, and
billiard hall made attractive by velvet
rugs, mission furniture, and draperies,
offer various means of diversion and
entertainment, while the enormous
paintings from the brush of a local
artist, F. M. Lamb, are a delight to
the lover of art.
The club, which began with fifty
charter members, is limited to one hun-
dred, and now numbers nearly seventy,
with the following officers: President,
Mr. Walter Swan; vice-president, Mr.
Ira Burnham; secretary, Mr. Edwin
Jones ; treasurer, Henry S. Jones.
On Jan. 26, 1905, a ladies' auxiliary
was formed, beginning with thirteen
charter members, which has increased
to about sixty, having the following
officers : President, Miss Gertrude
Belcher; vice-president, Mrs. I. V.
Marston ; secretary and treasurer, Mrs.
N. K. Standish.
During the year of 1909 the stable
adjoining the club house was converted
into a hall, thirty by forty feet, and
equipped with cloak and dressing-
rooms of the latest, improved design.
Unlike many clubs of this kind,
strict temperance is enforced and
gambling in any form is forbidden.
Neither religious nor political matters
influence the acceptance of a new mem-
ber, who may come from any church or
organization, as long as a good moral
record is shown.
The Stoughton Historical Society
has done much for the preservation of
valuable records, and the marking of
ancient sites.
This society was organized in 1894
under the leadership of Hon. E. C.
Monk, who gave the marker which
now indicates the southeast corner of
the plantation granted to the Ponka-
poag Indians, and occupied by them
until the last brave passed on, leaving
Stoughton town hall
364
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
i'r |
i I
Monk bi<ock, Stoughton square
but a memory of a once powerful tribe.
The site of the first house, first church
and first school building has been
marked by a granite stone given by this
society.
There are now about seventy mem-
bers, who meet eight times each year at
their rooms in the library building,
under the leadership of Mr. H. L.
Johnson, president, Miss Amelia Clif-
ton, secretary, and Richard B. Ward,
treasurer.
The stone given by Mr. Monk also
marks the corner of the first land
deeded to a white man in Stoughton.
Mr. Geo. Monk, to whose ancestor this
land was deeded, still owns the prop-
erty, which consists of a grove of
pine and a beautiful body of water,
now known as Glen Echo Lake. Here
the Apostle Elliott preached to the
native redmen when Stoughton was
in its infancy. The sparkling pond,
with its natural shore, has never
been marred by the hand of civiliza-
tion. The reservation is now under
the management of the Bristol and
Norfolk Street Railway Company, who
have recently opened the grounds to
the public by means of a branch rail-
road which runs nearly half a mile
through natural forest to the centre
of the park. The attractions offered
are many and varied. Every accom-
modation is given picnic parties and
tourists, while excellent facilities for
boating, bathing, and conoeing, are en-
joyed. Bowling alleys, dance hall and
an excellent pavilion make of this play-
ground a spot where old or young
may find rest or amusement, as suits
their mood. Sunday-school picnic
parties may be found here almost any
day throughout the season, where they
delight in the freedom of the grove, as
they listen to the song of birds and
gather the wild flowers or berries
which abound.
Although Stoughton was once
known as a shoe town, on account of
the many factories where footwear was
manufactured, since 1880, these firms
ANOTHER OFFSPRING OF OLD DORCHESTER
305
have gradually given place to other
industries until but one shoe factory
remains and four hundred skilled shoe
workers go out of Stoughton to their
places of employment each morning. The
facilities for the manufacture of shoes
are as good to-day in Stoughton as
they were thirty years ago, and it is
the aim of the people to see the old
factories once more in operation and
their shoe workers employed again in
their home town.
To the manufacturer who would settle
here we can say that abundant power,
excellent light, and good facilities for
shipment without transshipment to
Boston, await the new comer while the
train service to Boston is excellent and
the fare very low when season tickets
are employed.
To the farmer we would say that
Stoughton land is proving very pro-
ductive for truck gardening and
poultry raising is successfully carried
on by many residents, while an excel-
lent Grange is a prominent feature of
the social life of this town.
Schools of every grade, including
a High School which prepares the
student for college, and a Business
School of Shorthand, are maintained
at a cost of over $20,000 yearly. And
opportunities for social intercourse are
unlimited ; while markets and shops
of every nature, including a large de-
partment store, cater to the needs of
the household. Add to these a people
whose cordial welcome to a stranger
is unequaled by any town in Massachu-
setts and what more can be desired?
Photograph hy Geo. Gerard
Another Stoughton residence
Is
<*%}
.-'•"
Photograph hy H.W. Spooner
OiyD " Mother Ann
... ...'■' ' • ' "' -^
*:.
A Gloucester built motor-boat which holds the speed record oe its class
Motor-Boating on the North Shore
By DANIEL BURBANK
NO longer does it suffice, though
one is the most pronounced
of motor-boat enthusiasts, to
hover the engine and gear of his craft,
for the delightful uncertainty of that
operation is no more !
The modern motor goes about its
business in so thoroughly satisfactory
a manner that the owner thereof, left
heart and fancy free, begins to open his
eyes to his surroundings and to de-
mand of them some tribute of beauty,
interest or inspiration.
Where to go, what to see and what
to do are quite sure to become absorb-
ing problems as soon as the "trial trip"
state of mind has passed.
To those who have reached this
happy condition — to whom it has be-
come a second nature to listen sub-
consciously to the rhythm of the motor
and to know thereby all that need be
known of its few requirements — a bit
of information as to a locality made to
order for the enjoyment of their favor-
ite sport may prove most welcome.
The Great Architect must have fore-
seen the motor-boat age when He built
Gloucester Harbor and surrounded it
with such a variety of interest and at-
traction.
But first be sure that your propeller
has not picked up some gratuitous ad-
dition to its bulk. Motor craft draw so
little water and their propellers are, in
consequence, so near the surface, that
they are very open to being taken ad-
vantage of in this way. A clean pro-
peller means a fast, clean trip.
You will hardly have gone a hundred
feet before the song of your motor will
have told you that it is getting a good
mixture. The Gloucester air is quite
free from fogs and dead flukes that
367
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NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
in some localities keep the best of car-
bureters guessing-.
Another advantage that the motor-
boat enthusiast will appreciate is that
the tides about Gloucester do not aver-
age over eight feet, which is very mod-
erate, and, with the cleanness of the
coast, channels and landmarks, are al-
tered but little by them.
If one is going up the smaller streams
— and they afford the most delightful
of excursions — it is best to go at high
tide, unless a little acquainted with the
channel ; otherwise one can forget the
tides in motor-boating about Glouces-
ter. The harbor is one of the easiest in
the world to enter. The entrance is
broad and plainly marked, and the har-
bor entirely free from obstructions at
all stages of the tides.
Our own trip was taken in a twenty-
passenger launch (it is wonderful how
easily these boats accommodate large
parties, so free are they from weighty
encumbrances and so small is the space
required for the engine), certainly a
craft of sufficient size to test the water-
draughts of the nooks and corners
which we entered.
Before starting for Gloucester we
took the precaution to call up "Main
491" (that is the weather-bureau man,
you know). They are good fellows up
there, and accommodating to a degree.
They reported at the weather bureau :
"Very unfavorable for motor-boating;
heavy fogs and indications of squalls."
This, fortunately, we accepted as a
good omen, and on arriving at Glouces-
ter (one hour from Boston by the Bos-
ton & Maine) we found conditions ideal
for our purpose — sky slightly overcast,
breeze rippling the surface, and the
motor singing contentedly "air enough,
air enough, air enough for anything
you want I"
Our skipper knew his business too
well to ask us where we wanted to go.
We wanted to see things, and he took
us to where there were things to see.
He stood at the wheel, well forward,
and we took a position at his side.
"Much motor-boating hereabout?"
"Is there ! Come up any fine day in
Photograph by H. W. Spooner
Bass Rocks
MOTOR-BOATING ON THE NORTH SHORK
369
Photograph by H. W. Spooner
Race chasm
the summer and you can see most any-
thing- that is built in that line, from an
Italian lobsterman's dory to a floating
palace. Why, right over in that little
shop they have built seventy-five boats
since the craze began, and they are
building some beauties now. Perhaps
you'd like to see them?"
We would. Accordingly, we landed
at the convenient little float and looked
over the beauties. And beauties they
were: a cruiser with four berths for-
ward and all accommodations for com-
fort ; staunch enough for an ocean voy-
age — a long, low, rakish speeder, with
a fifteen-horsepower engine in her ; a
family boat, round and jolly-looking,
and a special or private design were on
the ways. There are certainly times
when it would be pleasant to be able to
sign your check offhand for the neces-
sary number of hundreds.
But we were soon consoled by the
pleasures before us.
As we pulled away from the landing
our guide pointed out the "John R.
Bradley," in which Cook made — or did
he? At any rate, we were interested.
370
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
Photograph by H. W. Spooner
A Gloucester sunset
Nearby nestled the "Fleur-de-Lis,"
whose fame and that of her doughty
skipper added to the beauty of her lines
the interest that always attaches to
achievement.
Well, it is an interesting- harbor — al-
ways something of the most intensely
nautical flavor at hand; but our guide
was heading the "Wabassit" for the
short stretch of canal that joins
Gloucester Harbor with Annisquam
River.
It was low tide, but that did not mat-
ter. There was water enough even for
so large a craft as the "Wabassit."
The digging of this canal was a de-
cided improvement. It connects Essex
River, Little River and Annisquam
River, with Gloucester Harbor with-
out the long detour formerly nee-
MOTOR-BOATING ON TIIK NORTH SHORE
371
essary. Incidentally, it opens up a de-
lightful maze of quiet water that is a
very paradise for the motor-boat.
Here is exploration and interest for
a whole summer full of motor-boat
trips.
By continuing through to Annis-
quam, passing out into the open and
rounding the cape, one may return to
Gloucester after a twenty-five-mile cir-
cuit that will include about every va-
riety of water life and scenery to be
found — quiet rivers, deep harbors,
rocky shores, islands, promontories,
beaches and the deep, blue sea.
If one is minded to let out a notch or
two of speed or try conclusions with
something else of his size, he will not
have to look far or long for an oppor-
tunity. Manchester is but a few miles
away, and motor-boat racing is one of
the features of summer life at that ex-
clusive North Shore resort.
As my guide discoursed I took,
notes, resting my note-book on the edge
of the hood forward. How swift is the
march of improvement ! It seems but
the last time out that the boat (the best
of its kind to date) so shook and quiv-
ered with the explosions of the motor
that writing on board would have been
out of the question, but the "Wabassit"
was as steady as an ocean liner — no
more vibration than gives one a pleas-
ant sense of motion.
A very interesting, natural feature of
the landscape is Coffin's Beach, with its
white sand dunes lifted like carved
marble above the blue sea. Thatcher's
Island and Ten Pound Island are in-
teresting points for a landing and a
lunch, and the point of the cape and
old Mother Ann, the quarries at Rock-
port and the typical New England
coast thereabout, the many-colored
rocks of Magnolia and the sands of
Manchester, quaint old Marblehead
and Salem, the beautiful Ipswich River,
the winding Essex with its historic
shipyards — these and a host of other
points of real interest and untiring at-
tractiveness call for more than one day
to themselves.
But we were speaking of luncheon!
That important feature of motor-boat-
ing can be enjoyed in no way more
thoroughly than in the cool, clean din-
ing-rooms of the splendid hostelries
that line these shores. *
And it matters so little where you
are. From the Hesperus at Magnolia
to the Grand View at Annisquam is a
series of summer hotels which are a
pleasure to visit on their own account.
The list will include such popular re-
sorts as the Hawthorne Inn at Glouces-
ter and the Moorland at Bars Rocks,
and many others (we counted over
fifteen on that circuit), patronized by
Gloucester enthusiasts from all over
the country.
After luncheon, — which is pretty
sure to take on the porportions of a
dinner — you will feel like a doze on
the beach, or a quiet stroll about
Pigeon Cove, or Thatcher's Island, or
Race Chasm, — on surf-whitened Bass
Rocks — all according to where you
chose to stop.
Then as the afternoon begins to
wane and the water to fill with the
long, slant lights you will want to
push out. to some favorable point from
which to look back at the famous sun-
sets of this favored bit of coast.
Suppose it is a run out into the
smooth, oily roll of the deep sea, say
around the reef of Norman's Woe-
how many yarns, tragic and comic,
gather about that bit of rock !
Even your motor-boat skipper will
tell you how his little vessel seems to
hear the sirens that cast their hyp-
notic spells about the unwary.
"Give it a wide birth. You are al-
ways nearer to Norman's Woe than
you think you are," is a maxim that is
all right for the sailing master of a
six-master or the pilot of a steamer,
but the mosquito fleet may be more
daring. The motor-boat skipper may
flirt with the sirens of Norman's Woe
quite unguardedly and come to a very
close acquaintance with as interesting
a bit of sea-scape as old ocean contains.
A cup of cold water facially applied
with promptness will effectively
squelch any half-baked individual who
undertakes to recite "The Wreck of
the Hesperus."
372
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
The Hotei, Moorund
Having taken a good offing, turn
with the incoming vessels in the soft
light of evening. Feel yourself one of
them — the tall-masted schooners and
the little smacks and lobster boats all
pointed harborwards with the air of
peace that belongs to the ending of the
days of work.
If the sound of bells from the city
churches come floating from out the
sunset against which their towers are
silhouetted, you will indeed be im-
pervious to sentiment if you do not
yield, mind and heart, to the magic of
the tones that spell — peace.
I myself am fondest of the back-
ward look, the soft reflection of the
west that tinges the eastward view,
and nowhere is this finer than looking
outward down the length of Glouces-
ter harbor itself.
And the fading light lends itself to
that conclusion which is the universal
ending of every North Shore motor-
boat trip : "How soon can we manage
to do it again?"
AWAKENED
By ARTHUR WALLACE PEACH
The still sod feels the thrill of life
Pulse through its dreamless night,
And from the deep, unbroken dusk
The rose bursts into light.
Thus through the dull earth of a life
Love sends its tender light,
And from the barren soul springs sweet
The rose of manhood white !
,
PROGRESSIVE LEGISLATION AT
LAST
We congratulate Congress on its
graceful flop. The McCall publicity
bill has passed with a fine majority
that indicates the certainty of its be-
coming law.
This is one of the President's favorite
measures, and at no
point is he in closer
sympathy with that
growing public which
believes in the pos-
sibility of the cure
of corporate abuses
without the ruin of
the corporation.
No sound argu-
ment against the
publicity of the
transactions of a cor-
poration, which is a
creation of law and,
in a measure, there-
fore and always a
public institution, can
be put forward.
Mr. McCall was
just the man to
father this important
bill. New England's
leadership in pro-
gressive legislation
at the National Capi-
tol, as well as in their
own state legislature, does riot rest on
intrigue, but on the sound foundation
of intelligence and righteousness.
May the passing of this important
measure prove to be the beginning of
the end of the anti-administration
clamor.
Hon. Samuel W. McCain
NEW ENGLAND WATERWAYS TO
BENEFIT
The River and Harbor Bill, as re-
ported by the Senate Commerce Com-
mittee, contains many items of interest
to New England.
Provincetown receives an appropria-
tion of $145,000, while the appropria-
tion for Fall River
is $143,000. East
Boothbay harbor re-
ceives attention, and
Rockport, Maine,
comes in for $32,000
for the completion
of an improvement
there. The Saco
River appropriation
is $30,000, while
a new appropriation
for the improvement
of the St. Croix is
made and authority
given to confer with
the Canadian govern-
ment in regard to
co-operation in the
development of that
stream. Providence
receives $434/000, — a
well-placed appropri-
ation, and Newport
$30,000 with permis-
sion to expend $183,-
000 more.
To the House appropriation of
$10,000 for the maintenance of the
Point Judith harbor is added $175,000
for the construction of the west shore
arm of the breakwater.
All of these are absolutely needed.
We are particularly interested in the
373
374
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
Providence harbor appropriation. The
improvement of that valuable shipping
port is in the interest of the commerce
not only of Providence but of all New
England.
THE POTATO SITUATION IN
AROOSTOOK COUNTY
The situation in the potato-growing
district of Maine is acute.
There is a magnificent crop which
Boston to-day for potatoes, it is evi-
dent that something is wrong that
ought to be righted.
Direct dealing between the growers
and consumer will remedy the trouble.
That means advertising by the farmers
of a district, collectively.
There is a demand for their product
at a price that is highly remunerative,
and such a situation as that which now
exists is intolerable, and the remedy
should be swift and sure.
Fancy Eree. See page 340
the growers have been holding for a
fair price. The buyers, however, have
succeeded in holding the buying price
at so low a figure that many of the
farmers have sold to the starch fac-
tories, which means, unfortunately, at
a price that leaves little or no margin
over the cost of culture.
With the high prices prevailing for
other articles of food and, indeed, the
price paid by retail consumers about
AERO CLUB PLANS
The Aero Club of New England, of
which Mr. Charles J. Glidden is presi-
dent, are planning to hold an aero meet
in Boston this summer.
The idea is to make it a sporting
event on a strictly amateur basis.
Efforts are being made to raise money
for the expenses and for the purchase
of a large aeroplane to be the property
of the club, and to be used by the
IN NEW ENGLAND
375
members on the payment of a fee.
This, it is expected, will result in an
income sufficient to justify the ex-
penditure.
There should be no difficulty in
raising the funds for this enterprise.
Nothing could more rapidly advance
the science of aviation than the re-
ception of the pastime into the ranks
of amateur sport'.
THE PORTLAND SOCIETY OF ART
An interesting movement and one of
great possibilities for the development
of art interest in New England is the
Portland Society of Art of Portland,
Me., which is about to move into a
commodious and attractive home made
possible through a recent and generous
legacy.
Attached to the new clubhouse is a
fireproof exhibition gallery, which
should make it possible for the city to
have the benefit of such leading collec-
tions as are from time to time exhibited
through the country. This will not
only minister to the culture of the city
and add to the amenity of life in the
metropolis of Maine, but it will culti-
vate an art enthusiasm and direct it
into the proper channels for productive
accomplishment.
The design of the building was done
con amove by the vice-president of the
society, Mr. John Calvin Stevens, an
accomplished architect of original ideas
and himself ,a landscape painter of
ability.
The enthusiasm incident to the pros-
pective acquisition of this new and
beautiful home might of itself be ex-
pected to produce at least a temporary
awakening.
And, of course, it has. It has con-
vinced the city of the seriousness of the
society, and given to the organization
a standing it would have been difficult
otherwise to command.
But, so far as the membership of the
society is concerned, no outside source
of enthusiasm was needed.
The members of the society are full
of love for their work, and they are al-
most to a man working artists. Sketch-
ing in oil and water-color is a pastime
to which the charm of the Maine coast
extends a most enticing appeal. Most
of the members of the Portland Art So-
ciety would disclaim any more serious
pursuit of art than that. Nevertheless,
at their spring exhibition, recently held,
the work exhibited would compare very
favorably with any of the members' ex-
hibitions of any of the art clubs of our
larger cities. The work included that
of professional artists, students, as well
as of those to whom the work is rather
an avocation than a vocation.
There were in all nearly one hundred
exhibits, and the hanging committee
are to be congratulated on the manner
in which they were shown.
Particularly notable for delicacy of
touch and artistic feeling are the water-
colors of Miss Mary King Longfellow.
"On the Marsh," by John Calvin
Stevens, is an oil of unusual luminosity
and restraint. Mr. Charles C. McKim
displays work of great vigor and high
promise, while Mr. S. E. Matthews, in
a little sunset picture, reaches a very
high plane of accomplishment.
It would not be possible here to give
credit to all to whom credit, and much
credit, is due. The total impression
was of gladness and spontaneity in the
work and an aim toward the best
things, that sometimes comes danger-
ously near compelling us to say, "This
is something more than good work."
There is work of promise in that ex-
hibition. There are artists of promise
in the Portland Art Society. But, more
important than all, there is an atmos-
phere in which budding genius may find
itself welcomed and nurtured into vig-
orous life.
It is to be hoped that ways will be
found for the artists of Boston and
other larger art centers to come into
productive touch with this valuable
movement.
376
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
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JOHN HOWARD ,'Mr\'F.M5
.A.U.CHITE.CTS-
Cl,UB HOUSE AND EXHIBITION GAI^ERY OE THE PORTLAND SOCIETY OE ART
The twenty-first concert of the Bos-
ton Symphony Orchestra was given in
Symphony Hall on Saturday, April 9th.
This concert is notable for the per-
formance of a work by Mr. Frederick
S. Converse, a romance for orchestra
entitled "Endymion's Narrative," and
the performance of the Tschaikowsky
Violin Concerto in D-major, by Mr.
Fritz Kreisler. The remaining num-
ber on the program was the "Varia-
tions on an original theme," by Elgar.
The real interest of the audience was
in the appearance of Mr. Kreisler.
There may be two reasons. Mr.
Kreisler for sometime since has com-
manded and won the breathless and
profound attention of his audiences, be-
cause his temperament, his violinism,
and his intellectual calibre, seem so
wonderfully en rapport with each
other. The other reason for animated
interest in his appearance may be that
we heard a certain star, not long ago,
pour forth his Russian soul (using the
same concerto as a medium for expres-
sion) with vehemence and passion
enough to spasmize a statue. Ergo
there was some curiosity as to what
Mr. Kreisler would do plus a desire to
"compare." As to this latter process
some allowance must be made for the
maturity of Mr. Kreisler as set against
the younger years of the star. How-
ever, I do not believe it at all a matter
of years. There always seems an un-
limited and concentrate quantity of the
ego about the once-while star prodigy,
— a certain aggressiveness, so to speak.
No matter how much an artist has
become lionized, — no matter how much
he deserves to be lionized, he is the
greater if he never ceases to bend low
before the sacred fire and remains him-
self an idol-worshipper of the muse-
It may be the quintessence of achieve-
ment, but nothing more, to play one's
vehement self, ace-high, to an admir-
ing public. Mr. Kreisler has never
done this latter and the star to whom
I refer has, and, I believe, always will.
Mr. Kreisler summons more than
admiration and wonder over himself
and his art. He summons and insists
upon, when he is at his best, your rev-
erence for music, the wonderful, pour-
IN NEW ENGLAND
377
ing forth the catholic experiences of
mankind. By this very insistence
upon and intention of hallowed respect
for his art he commands profound re-
spect for himself. The wings of his
emotion do not beat the air, they soar
in rhythmic and subtly refined fluency,
and oftentimes his tone and message
are the very acme of art.
He made the tender, expressive
beauty of the Andante. an experience of
loveliness. It is a great relief to feel
that with so reverent a high-priest as
Mr. Kreisler, you are present at a sup-
plication of the gods. I say a relief
because the appearance of a soloist too
often profits us only the opera-glassing
of the projection of a personality into
space and our ears.
As to the violinism of Mr. Kreisler,
he is past-master of technique, but he
never juggles with it. His tone has a
unique and wonderful beauty and never
does he aim to drain dry the very dregs
of tone.
It is said that this artist will not
come to America again for several
years. He has won for himself a
staunch loyalty and admiration of which
he may well be proud.
Fritz Kreisler, the profound and
legitimate artist, is more than a won-
derful master of the violin ; he digni-
fies the very atmosphere of all music
and of human artistic expression.
The "Romance," by Mr. Frederick
S. Converse, is a most interesting work.
Mr. Converse decidedly had a definite
and interesting message and a fluency
of orchestral manipulation for present-
ing it.
The opening measures ominously
and subtly begin the spell. There
is a spontaneity about this work, an
ever-present sonority which is now en-
treating and again broadens into deep-
ly dramatic force and power. Mr. Con-
verse has long ranked as an authorita-
tive composer of the rank of a very
select few. This composer's opera,
"The Pipe of Desire," was recently
performed for the first time at the
Metropolitan Opera House with
marked success. Mr. Converse was
born in Newton, Mass., in 1871, and
was an instructor in composition at
Harvard at one time.
The last concert of the year of the Bos-
ton Symphony Orchestra will be given
Friday afternoon, April 29, and Satur-
day evening, April 30, in Symphony
Hall, when Beethoven's great Ninth
(Choral) Symphony will be given with
four soloists and the Chorus of the St.
Cecilia Society assisting. This colossal
master-work is a fitting climax to a
successful year.
On Monday, May 2, will occur the
initial performance of the deservedly
awaited "Pop" concerts. These con-
tinue every evening except Sunday
from eight until eleven on into the first
week in July. Mr. Gustav Strube con-
ducts the orchestra and many a music
lover looks forward to "The Blue
Danube Walzes" and "Peer Gynt" and
other numbers beautiful but of a much
lighter vein, of course, than the winter
concerts.
Is it a reflection of the success of
Rostand's play as an amusement fea-
ture of Parisian life this winter that so
many so-called "literary" plays have
been successfully produced on the
American stage during the latter part
of this year's theatrical season?
However that may be, the fact is a
notable one that plays formerly thought
to belong to the "high-brow" class and
the announcement of which was con-
sidered tantamount to an invitation to
stay away, so far as "the public" was
concerned, have played to good houses.
Maeterlinck and Ibsen are coming to
be names almost as familiar to the rank
and file of theater-goers as to the literati.
Mrs. Fiske's presentation of Ibsen's
"Pillars of Society" at the Hollis Street
Theater is heralded by words of enthu-
siastic comment. The actress herself,
instead of complaining, as has been the
wont, at the overwhelming intellectual
378
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
Ethel Barrymore, who appears at the Hoeus street theatre
content of the lines, finds them most
inspiring and conducive to the best act-
ing.
"The engagement is in every way no-
table, and those who are in doubt as to
the dramatic possibilities of an Ibsen
piece should make it a point to see the
play. The engagement closes May 7,
and it is necessary to act quickly.
Mrs. Fiske will be followed at the
Hollis by Ethel Barrymore, who will
appear in "Mid-Channel. " Those who
have seen this favorite actress of late
say that her work was never more full
of enthusiasm and catchy interest.
At the Shubert Theater the New
Theater company presented an array of
classic plays, including Maeterlinck's
IN NEW ENGLAND
79
"Beatrice," as well as such old favorites
as "The School for Scandal." The en-
gagement is to be followed by Frank
Daniels in "The Belle of Brittany," a
musical comedy which will meet with
favor and maintain the reputation which
the Shubert Theater is certainly estab-
lishing for itself.
At the Majestic, James K. Hackett,
in "Monsieur Beaucaire," will open the
month.
At the Park Theater "The Man from
Home" is breaking all records. Every-
body goes and goes again, and, when
their out-of-town friends appear, take
them with the certainty of pleasing.
Raymond Hitchcock has concluded a
long and successful engagement at the
Tremont.
"The Girl in the Taxi," a musical
comedy of the ultra up-to-date class,
will follow, the engagement beginning
May 9. No house has been more suc-
cessful with comic light opera of this
style than the Tremont. Harold De
Haven and Adelaide Ritchey will take
the leading parts in "The Girl in the
Taxi," and give the esprit and the verve
which are so necessary to the success
of musical comedy. The music is said
to be particularly catching and tuneful.
The Castle Square is making a suc-
cess of "The Prisoner of Zenda," John
Craig playing the double role with
marked success.
At the Boston Theater "The Three
Twins" comes back, with Clifton Craw-
ford in the leading role. We will be
much surprised if this popular piece
does not go with a vim that will keep
the box office more than busy.
At the Colonial Theatre "Bright
Eyes" is to demonstrate anew its popu-
larity with Boston audiences. No mu-
sical comedy is more tuneful than this,
nor couched in a happier vein. It was
heartily received when presented at the
Boston Theater, and its was known
even then that a return engagement at
some Boston house was a certainty. It
will find many friends to welcome its
new appearance.
"PERSONAL POWER"
There has recently come from the
press of Houghton Mifflin & Company
a book entitled "Personal Power," by
William Jewett Tucker. The work
consists of a series of talks delivered
by Dr. Tucker at Sunday vespers dur-
ing the last few years of his adminis-
tration as president at Dartmouth
College, and are printed as they were
delivered without change or elabora-
tion. The sub-title of the book is
"Counsels to College Men," but the
addresses may be read with profit and
interest by those whose college days
are long past.
Although these addresses were de-
livered at Sunday vespers, they are
of moral rather than religious sig-
nificance. Further, they touch upon
modern, living topics. They are an
earnest protest against vulgarity, dis-
play, moral cowardice, littleness, They
are a plea for simplicity, honesty, and
steady purpose. "Personal Powers" is
a book with a hundred thoughts in
every line; it cannot be read hurriedly
— nor forgotten.
There is a certain class of so-called
"self-made men," and, in passing, they
have too often out-Frankensteined
Frankenstein — who zealously decry a
college education as effeminating and
promoting of idleness. I would call
the attention of these, especially, to the
last four essays in the book, which
deal with "The training of The College
Man." Their notion of the college
man's ideal may be altered.
The book is written in the dignified,
unostentatious language which is
characteristic of Dr. Tucker, and to
those who, like the reviewer, have
heard most of these discourses de-
livered, cannot fail to bring up a pic-
ture of the earnest, quiet gentleman,
speaking with rare emphasis, and few
gestures, yet with such power that
380
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
twelve hundred college boys sit mo-
tionless.
"A clear and well-defined act never
leaves a man as it finds him," says
Dr. Tucker. The same sentiment may
be expressed of this, his latest book.
Houghton Mifflin & Co. Price, $1.50.
"Something About Singlefoot. Chap-
ters in the Life of an Oshkosh Man."
John Hicks, LL. D. Cockrane Publish-
ing Company.
The recent suggestion of changing
the name of Oshkosh has aroused a
protest from the entire country. The
notoriety of limerick and jest has only
served to make this little Wisconsin
city better known than any of its size
in the United States, and its peculiar
name has been the advertising agency
of its lumber business.
Toward a new book on Oshkosh life
the same humorous and widespread in-
terest is aroused. Mr. Hicks, in "Some-
thing About Singlefoot," adds some
new and interesting chapters, not only
on Oshkosh, but on the pioneer life of
the great Northwest. As the title indi-
cates, the story itself is a bare collec-
tion of incidents centered loosely within
the lifespan of a typical Oshkosh man.
The incidents, however, are often very
unusual and striking, and the reflection
of the Civil War on the activity of the
town introduces a most picturesque de-
scription of northern home life in war
times. The book is not a story at all ;
as a narrative it smacks of the crude-
ness of the pioneer life it recalls, and
the main incidents are the least inter-
esting. It has a certain real value in its
flood of incidental reminiscences expe-
rienced by a man who lived in the heart
of the most thrilling episodes and evo-
lutions of the last half-century.
Mr. Hicks has dedicated his book to
"the surviving men and women of the
pioneer host that in the last century
went into the great Northwest and
wrought a powerful empire out of a
wilderness" ; but the book will interest
those of the South and East as well
who sent their sons and daughters into
the West and who saw the salvation of
the great republic.
ROBERT EMMET'S WOOING
The story takes up Robert .Emmet,
the Irish patriot, at the age of twenty-
five years. Many people in Ireland
at that time believed that the time was
ripe for another revolt, and urged Em-
met to assume the leadership. Not-
withstanding the fact that he and his
family were in good standing, social
and financial, and subject to none of
the evils complained of, he agreed to
lead the movement. When some of his
unruly followers resorted to assassina-
tion, he at once abandoned his attempt,
but too late to escape blame for what
had occurred. His companions, to
avoid prosecution by the Government,
fled to the United States, and he him-
self could undoubtedly have effected
his escape, but for his desire to see the
girl to whom he was betrothed, and
explain his course.
Emmet's trial and tragic end are
matters of history ; but the romance
connected with his life is not so well
known. The girl he loved was Sarah
Curran, the daughter of John P. Cur-
fan, an eminent barrister and orator.
Although Mr. Curran was a loyal Irish-
man, he was also a loyal subject of
Great Britain. He did not believe that
the revolt was justified, and strongly
opposed any intimate ties with Emmet,
and finally compelled his daughter to
leave her home when he learned that
she had plighted her troth to him.
But never, in life or in fiction, did
lovers display a greater constancy or
persistence. The girl was willing to
sacrifice, if need be, her home and her
comfort for her love, even after it
seemed hopeless, and Emmet proved
his willingness to sacrifice his life, if
need be, and did lose his life in an
effort to return and explain to her his
situation, with a view to justifying his
advances under such dangerous con-
ditions. He succeeded in seeing her,
and giving his explanation — which was
not at all required, as not for one
moment did she doubt him — and was
captured in consequence.
It is probable that he was convicted
only because the law at that time did
not permit a man accused of crime to
IN NEW ENGLAND
381
testify on his trial. His speech, ad-
dressed to his judges, might have pro-
duced the required effect upon the
jury, had he been allowed to address it.
The political career and tragic end
of this man, who lived only twenty-
five years, and particularly his trial and
his own address, have rendered him a
character of note in history. But above
all, the story of his love and the sacri-
fice of his life for it have given him a
dual position entitling him to the
world's consideration — a martyr to his
duty and a martyr to his love.
THE ACHIEVEMENTS OF LUTHER
TRANT
To the reader who enjoys a tale of
mystery the "Achievements of Luther
Trant," by MacHarg-Balmer, published
by Small, Maynard & Company, will
prove especially interesting.
It is unlike the ordinary detective
story, in that the hero is a young stu-
dent of psychology who has employed
the results of his experiments in the
college laboratory as a means for the
detection of crime. The cases which he
is called upon to work out are suffi-
ciently baffling to satisfy the most ex-
acting lover of mystery, and the de-
nouement is always surprisingly sim-
ple.
It would demand a very credulous
reader, however, to accept as possible
the extraordinary success which Trant
meets with in the use of these psycho-
logical tests, notwithstanding that the
author emphasizes particularly the
truth that the world as yet is vastly ig-
norant of the wonderful power which
comes from a better knowledge of the
workings of the human mind, and even
despite the fact that such scientists as
Professor Munsterberg have expressed
their convictions that favorable results
may be obtained through the use of this
knowledge.
Moreover, the improbability of the
story increases as the achievements
continue, until in the two last adven-
tures the unreality is so strikingly ap-
parent that it detracts from the merits
of the book.
We cannot help realizing that Trant
has fallen from the role of the psychol-
ogy student into that of the extraordi--.
nary detective, and although the mys-
tery is enhanced and the climax is more
startling, it is a question whether the
story has not suffered because of the
change.
JUST BETWEEN THEMSELVES
A light, vivacious novel that in its
characteristically American humor com-
pares favorably with anything yet pro-
duced by the creator of "Susan Clegg."
It is the tale of a house-party of six
bent on having a good time in the little
German town of Dichtenburg, and the
trials and tribulations that befel them
Anne Warner
Author oe "Just Between Themselves"
Little, Brown & Co.
because they weren't just alike in their
tastes and ways. First of all, it is a
breezy satire on the little troubles of
married life that sometimes seem to
hurt a good deal more than the big
troubles. Secondly, and more impor-
tant, it is a bright, scintillating love
story.
&
Witli the
NEW ENGLAND
BOARDS 2! TRADE
BOSTON CHAMBER OF COMMERCE
It is possible that Boston may be
emancipated from the smoke nuisance
even before the contemplated electri-
fication of the steam railroads running
into this city is an accomplished fact.
The abatement of this nuisance to the
lowest possible minimum is the pur-
pose of a bili framed by the fuel supply
committee of the Chamber of Com-
merce which is now under considera-
tion by the committee on metropolitan
improvements of the Great and Gen-
eral Court. At a hearing on this
measure recently held at the State
House by the committee, not only was
there little opposition to the bill, but
representatives of the railroads stated
specifically that they were perfectly
willing to comply with its provisions,
and Representative Montague, who
had a bill of his own, declared his will-
ingness also to withdraw it in favor of
the Chamber's measure.
In the course of its investigations of
the smoke problem in various cities the
fuel supply committee was unable to
find anywhere a law which was capable
of enforcement or at least which was
being enforced. They found that
Pittsburg, Cleveland and Chicago had
earned their unenviable reputation as
smoke cities in spite of so-called smoke
laws on the statute books. One of the
advantages claimed for the bill of the
Boston Chamber of Commerce is that
it is capable of enforcement as well as
efficacious.
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